


No Misunderstandings

by eretria



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Adventure, Angst, Bisexuality, Canonical Character Death, Covert Operation, Developing Friendships, Drama, England (Country), Espionage, Europe, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Italy (country), M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Polyamory, Portugal (country), Resolved Sexual Tension, Search&Rescue, Spies, Threesome - F/M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, World War II, World War Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-08 00:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 66,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eretria/pseuds/eretria
Summary: This is Steve's story. This is Bucky's story. But, really, this is Peggy's story: an uncompromising woman in a man's war, a  spy, a lover, and the one who lived to grow old. Here is the personal and emotional journey the history books never found out about.





	1. I. Province of Lucca, Central Apennines, March 1944

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/gifts), [auburnnothenna (auburn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/gifts).



> Author's note: This story is finished (final wordcount clocks in at a little over 67 k), just undergoing final revisions and formatting. I will be posting chapters as they come back from my betas. I do have a buffer and hope to post at _least_ every other day, though, probably in quicker succession. Never fear, this is not a work in progress. It's merely a matter of smoothing out the remaining wrinkles, so to speak

****

**I.**

**Province of Lucca, Central Apennines, March 1944**

**Steve**

The endless, deafening roar filled his head, too loud to break down into anything but noise, loud everywhere around him, _pain_ , and he flew, fell, fell, hit, hit, up and down and hit again. White and darkness and snow buffeted him down. His lungs were on fire. His body crashed against stone and ice smashed against him and his uniform tore. Clutched for a hold but there was nothing to hold onto, no way to stop, just down, down, tumbling down.

No air, lungs locked up, couldn't breathe – _can't breathe_ – blinding brightness for one instant, air, gasp for it, the darkness of – smell of resin, pine – trees? No up, but down, and a crack, a thump into his arm, blinding pain, bone splintering. Crash against something hard, ribs snapping and –

Stunning stillness. _Everything hurt._

Sinking, shivering, arm and side shrieking, no air to scream, flung down like a broken toy.

Fuck, but everything, _everything_ hurt. Fingernails torn off, palms shredded, the pain from his arm like a fire engine's wail, a red strobe and he –

He couldn't breathe.

Shivering, teeth chattering, too warm – too cold – _no air_ – He thrashed in a panic, fought against the cold blanket covering his face, wanted to howl and finally, there was freezing air cutting through his lungs. A whoosh of relief, and he pushed up.

A piercing crack like wood splintering. Something moved, fast. God, no, not again, please, just …

Impact.

Red-hot agony exploded, ripped into his guts as his flesh tore with a wet-hot slurp, sickening, searing – 

He screamed.

Silence.


	2. II. Villa Sparina, Italy, March 1944

****

**II.**

**Villa Sparina, Italy, March 1944**

**Bucky**

Raised voices filtered out of the dining room that had been taken over for operations and briefings, growing louder and more agitated as Bucky walked closer in the corridor.

Rheet was clearly already in a bad mood. Bucky muttered a curse. That was the last thing he needed.

"No, Agent Carter," Major Rheet snarled, "You heard Major Falsworth's report. It was an avalanche. Captain Rogers went over a cliff in an _avalanche_. The man's dead."

Bucky's jaw clenched. The hell he was. _Steve wasn't dead._

"He's not just a man, he's –"

"Even America's favourite propaganda toy isn't going to survive breaking his neck. I will not send my men after a dead body in this weather. And I sure as hell won't send a woman."

"Sir, you – "

"That's final, Carter," Rheet shouted.

The door opened, slamming against the wall with a bang.

"Dismissed."

Rheet spotted Bucky in the corridor and glared at him. "The answer is no." He turned to Agent Carter, who was standing inside his office, her arms crossed over her chest, looking mutinous. Even the large oil painting of a wealthy looking couple – probably the villa's owners – behind Rheet's desk seemed to be giving her disapproving looks. "Escort Agent Carter out of my office, Sergeant. Do not, either of you, waste my time with this again."

That fucking asshole. Bucky straightened to attention, locked his jaw to stop himself from shouting at Rheet and forced his gaze to remain on the oil painting, trained on the gold buttons on the man's waistcoat. If he looked at Carter now, who'd just failed at the exact same thing he'd come here to achieve, he was going to do something that'd get him thrown in the stockade. And he couldn't go after Steve from there. "Ma'am," he said, surprising himself with how impassive his voice sounded. "If you'd come with me."

"I don't need your help," Carter said, her back straight as a ruler, her voice clipped with anger. She marched out of Major Rheet's office with steps that sounded like she was channelling all her fury through the soles of her shoes. He saw her red-painted lips moving, mouthing insults. A lot of them. It was probably a good thing there were no more doors she could slam.

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek as he turned to Rheet. He couldn't tell Rheet to go and fuck himself the way he wanted to, but maybe if he tried reason? Maybe Carter had just tried the wrong tactic, maybe he could …

"I said no, Sergeant. No one survives going down the mountainside in an avalanche. And no one under my command goes after a dead body."

"He's not d — "

"If you don't want to end up in the stockade, do not open your mouth, walk out of here and do not come back."

Bucky tasted blood but he nodded and walked out of Rheet's office.

***

**Peggy**

Peggy waited outside the occupied villa's doors, arms slung around her, stepping from one foot to the other to ward off the chill. Light, powdery snow floated down and according to the thermometer by the door, the temperatures were dropping. It had shown minus three Centigrade when the Commandos came back. It was at minus ten now.

She was freezing, waiting for Barnes without a coat. She should have waited and cornered him inside. There were too many ears listening there, though. So much for finesse, though. She would turn into an icicle before he came out for a cigarette and could give her any answers.

Finally, the door swung open and Peggy waited just long enough to identify that it really was Barnes, then pounced. "What did you want from Major Rheet?"

If she'd startled Barnes, he hid it well. He drawled, "And a good day to you, too, Agent Carter." Snow settled on his shoulders and head, providing a stark contrast to the khaki uniform and his dark hair. "Fancy meeting you here."

She refused to shiver in front of him. "I am too bloody cold for chit-chat."

He nodded toward her snow-dusted uniform jacket. "So why are you waiting out here without a coat?"

"I'm waiting for you to tell me what you wanted from Rheet."

His gaze turned hard. "Why would I tell you?"

"Not only am I too cold for this," she straightened her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height so she matched his, "I also have no time." She sought eye-contact despite the gust of snow making her blink several times. "So let me rephrase: were you in there to get him to send a search party after Steve?"

Barnes' defences crumbled. "How did you know?"

"Because, as you probably heard," and how could he not, she and Rheet had been loud enough the entire building probably heard, "I tried the same thing."

"Hard to miss." His stance had relaxed in the past few seconds.

Blimey, she was cold. She stuffed her hands under underneath her armpits. "We should combine our efforts."

"What?" He inclined his head, looking surprised.

She pressed her lips together. Oh, no. Rheet had disrespected her already, and even if it was an innocent question, Barnes' tone alone made her hackles rise. She wasn't going to take this from him. "Yes, Sergeant, combine. As in my strength and your strength, and if you tell me that – "

He held up a hand. "Not where I was going." He gave her a long once over. "Just wondering why you'd come to me with this."

Oh. Peggy relaxed a little. This, she could handle. "There aren't many people keen on going out after him," she gave him a wry smile and finished, "as you may have noticed."

"The Major was my last-ditch effort, so, yeah."

Seeing that Steve had gone into enemy territory for Barnes, it only made sense that Barnes would do the same for him.

"Why do you want him back so bad when Rheet doesn't? The brass gonna dock your pay for losing their propaganda toy?"

She would deal with whatever this was – mistrust of her, protectiveness, jealousy, territorialism – later. "How much do you know about Project Rebirth?" She was about to divulge government secrets. There really was no need to look like a complete blabbermouth, if Steve had already filled Barnes in on it.

"That's what they called it?"

She resisted rolling her eyes. "You can stop playing dumb with me, I know Steve told you at least some of it." She gave him sharp look. "Did he tell you everything?"

"Look, Carter." He crossed his arms over his chest, bicep bulging under his uniform jacket, a show of strength that only made her square her shoulders and pull herself up even straighter. No more 'Agent'. Interesting. "Why don't you stop beating around the bush?"

Peggy fought the urge to retaliate verbally. If she wanted his help, she would have to trust Barnes. Damn it. "Steve's metabolism burns four times faster than a normal man's."

"Is that why he's always hungry?"

No 'why the hell does that matter?' Barnes caught on quick. Good. That would make it easier to explain.

"Yes."

"So, why are you telling me now?"

"Imagine him out in the cold, with his body needing to produce heat to keep him from freezing. Maybe he's lost blood, so more energy is lost by his body repairing the damage. Then imagine him running out of food."

Understanding dawned on his face. "Are you telling me that Steve could starve to death out there?"

"Exactly. It's the one thing Erskine speculated could kill him, save for a bullet to the head."

Barnes paled and his lips thinned. "Don't." His arms fell to his sides, limp, before he ran a hand over his face. Snow had begun to settle on his hair and it slipped off when he inclined his head. "Damn it." She'd seen him in action, always covering Steve from the distance, sniper-rifle at the ready. She had a feeling that the bullet to Steve's head was never far from his mind. She hated that she had to put another concern on the list, but this was war. If Barnes couldn't handle the stress, he had no business being here.

"So, are you in?"

He snapped his head up and looked at her with narrowed eyes. "What the hell kind of a question is that?" Shoulders squared, he continued, "I'm always gonna go after Steve. Done that all my life. I won't stop now."

She crossed her arms tighter in front of her chest to ward off the bone deep cold, too aware of how Steve might be suffering it. "You would be absent without leave and disobeying a direct order." She was SSR, and thus outside of the regular chain of command, but Barnes was US Army. He could return to face charges if he did this with her.

A sardonic grin flashed across Barnes's face and he shrugged. "That's familiar territory."

Muscles in her shoulders and stomach that had been tense loosened. She smiled at him in return. "Well, then." All things considered, this had gone smoother than she'd expected. 

"We'll need supplies. Leave that to me."

***

**Bucky**

He met Carter when the 0200 watch had just taken their post. Under normal circumstances, he would have called her insane for going out at night and with a steady snowfall, but Steve was out there, alone, possibly hurt and literally starving to death. He wasn't going to wait one more minute.

A dusting of snow had settled on Carter's backpack. She must have been waiting a while. "You're late." She threw him one of the white overalls the ski troops usually wore. She already had hers on and Bucky could imagine it – fifty feet away, no one would be able to make either of them out against the snow.

"Easier to sell heading out for a smoke," Bucky said as he pulled on his overall.

She accepted his excuse with a shrug. "Did you get the extra rations?"

He closed the jacket's buttons. "Yeah." Thanks to Daniels, his guy in supply, he had a bag in his ruck that was filled with nuts, artificial honey, fish oil (Steve was going to kill him for that), two small, dense loaves of rye bread, two sausages hard enough to use as batons, a block of cheese and a bag full of hard candies. Ration packs had been a no go; Daniels was accountable for them and Bucky didn't want him to get into the situation to explain why ten packs were missing. The other supplies, Daniels could file as spoilt and no one would ask questions. It wasn't much for three people, but it would get them through a day or two. Three if they rationed.

"Ready to find the needle in the haystack?" Carter asked. Giving him an out, he realised, one last chance to back down and save his own ass.

He shouldered his pack and re-adjusted his rifle to compensate. "I was born ready."

Carter rolled her eyes, amused. "Then strap on the skis and let's go."

Bucky looked at her feet and hid a wince. Skis. Damn.


	3. Province of Lucca, Central Apennines, March 1944

**III.**

**Province of Lucca, Central Apennines, March 1944**

**Steve**

"Steve."

Pain.

Pain, pain, pain.

"Stevie, hey!"

Make it stop, someone, just make it stop.

"Steeeevie."

He forced his eyes open, found nothing but bright light. It hurt. He closed his eyes again.

"No sleeping, Stevie. Bright day. Rise and shine."

"Go away." Talking hurt. Everything, _everything_ hurt. His body was trying to knit itself back together. He needed to rest. He needed morphine. He needed –

"Steve."

Morita would have to set his arm if he didn't want it to grow back together in the wrong place, but the thought alone made him want to throw up. Sleep. Maybe he could sleep before Jim started.

"Steve. Hey. Steve."

Bucky was a menace when he wanted to be. Steve needed sleep. Couldn't Bucky see that?

"STEVE!"

His eyes flew open. Against the light – cold, blue, the moon, not the sun – he saw Bucky's face, impish, the lines the war had etched into it smoothed away by the shadows of the night.

"Don't shout." Steve closed his eyes again.

"Then stop sleeping."

"Not having a good day. I need to rest." If he breathed shallowly, the pain wasn't so bad. Like when Joe Martini had broken one of his ribs. Just not moving around much had helped.

"None of that, Rogers. Sun's coming up, rise and shine."

An uncoordinated sound of protest left Steve's lips.

"Open those baby blues now, or I'll get the water bucket."

Steve forced his eyes open again with a groan. "You're a menace." Bucky looked washed out against the painful moonlight. He was in a white shirt with short sleeves. Steve frowned. It was too cold for that, also … "Why aren't you in uniform?"

"Why is there a tree growing out of your side?"

Steve raised his head, but only managed to catch a glimpse of his side before the movement lanced white-hot pain through him.

A tree. Not quite. But a branch from a fir, green and dusted with snow, scent of its resin mixed with that of fresh blood. Impaled on a Christmas tree. Near-hysterical laughter bubbled up in his chest, and, oh, God, that was bad, stop, don't move.

"How," he panted, "how did you find me?"

"Someone had to come save your dumb ass, right? And isn't that always me?"

"Yeah." Okay, okay. No movement made it better. Maybe if he gave his body enough time to repair the rest of his injuries, he could deal with this.

"Hey, hey, stop that. You gotta get that thing outta your side, Stevie. You gotta get up and get home. No sleeping."

He took a deep breath and expelled it immediately. Breathe shallow. Hurt less. "It hurts."

"Awwww, don't be a baby. I thought you were tough."

At that, Steve turned his head toward Bucky – still in the short sleeves, how was he not freezing? Had he put his jacket under Steve's head while he was out? – and glared. "I am. I can do it."

Bucky grinned. "That's right, toughest little shit in Brooklyn. You gotta pull that thing outta you now, though. Don't just puff your feathers like a bird."

Steve chanced a look at the branch, snow-tipped needles quivering when he moved. Even just placing a hand against the rough bark had fresh pain lancing through his side and made salty saliva pool under his tongue. Side-branches, old, dry and broken off. He'd pulled a deer from a German barbed wire fence in Poland once. Remembered its screams. If one of the side-branches got stuck in his innards, he might pull his damn guts out. He swallowed against the gag reflex. "I thought," he dropped his head back in the snow, "you were here to help."

"You'd complain for the next twenty years," Bucky huffed. "Nah. Some things you gotta do yourself, punk."

"I hate you." The snow was soft. Like the feather pillow Ma had got him when he'd had pneumonia in the winter of '36.

"No, you don't." Bucky's best Cheshire Cat grin appeared at the edge of his vision. "Now stop stalling. Or are you too weak?"

Steve gritted his teeth. "I'm not – " Boots planted against the ground as much as the snow allowed him, he tried to push up to glare at Bucky. "I've never been – " The fresh pain that hit him from both his arm and his side made him fall back on his good elbow, breath coming in gasps.

"Prove it."

He was going to have to set the arm first. If he passed out again or fell asleep, his body would heal in its current position, and that would just be –

"What, no Frankenstein ambitions?"

"Not going to let you be the only pretty one in the Commandos, jerk." A deep breath. Good hand on bone poking out against skin. Do it fast. Anticipation's the worst. Just go fast, go –

_Crack._

Pain like a tidal wave, threatening his grip on consciousness. Breathing, panting, gasping, anything not to scream.

Bucky’s voice. "One down, one to go."

He'd started now, no way back.

Boots against snow. Hand on branch. Oh, _God_ this was going to hurt.

"On three, Stevie, come on."

Stench of resin, blood, fear.

"One."

Panting. Breathe deeper. Don't hyperventilate.

"Two." Bucky's voice began to fade into the rushing of blood in his ears.

Expel breath from between clenched teeth. Don’t look. Just do it. "Three."

Flesh tearing, ripping open wounds already knitted back together – pain, pain – that wet, slurping sound, a hitch, something sticking – pain, pain, _pain_ – a sharper jerk, nausea, _pain_ , warmth spreading – agony –

A flash of green. The branch was out.

Cold sweat. Coppery smell of fresh blood. Pain a kaleidoscope of fires through his body. Tears leaking from his eyes. He did it, though. He did it.

"See?" he gasped. No answer. Steve opened his eyes, feeling his grasp on wakefulness fading. "Buck?"

Steve looked around the snow field, lit blue-white by the moon dipping down to the west. Bucky was nowhere to be seen. Nothing was. There were no tracks. Except where Steve had dropped the bloody branch, the snow was pristine as a freshly washed sheet.

Bucky wasn't there. Bucky had never been there. He dropped his head back, stopping the rasping chuckle that bubbled up. It _hurt_.

He needed to rest for a little bit – his eyelids were falling shut – then he'd have to crawl to the cover of the trees still standing downhill from him. Give Bucky a chance to find him for real.

Darkness swept him under.

***

**Peggy**

"Steve." Barnes voice carried over the pristine snow. "Steve!"

"Sergeant," Peggy snarled. In the leaden light of dawn creeping in, her breath smoked in front of her. "Shut up!"

"What do you suggest, huh? This is the place the avalanche came down. What if he's buried under this mess?"

"You can either be quiet or make sure the both of us get swept away by an avalanche as well."

He turned to her, eyebrows knitted. "What?"

"Avalanches. They're touchier than a sniper with a hangover."

He still looked confused and that made her remember that he'd grown up in New York. Likely the first tall mountain he'd seen was in Europe.

"Sound waves. Noise. Your shouting could cause another avalanche."

He nodded, once, and switched calling for Steve to walking ahead, scanning their surroundings like a hawk, both with his eyes and his field glasses. The argument she'd braced herself for didn't follow. When he wasn't rhapsodising over Barnes' good sides, Steve had painted him as a mouthy, cocky man who had a problem with authorities. Not for the first time since they'd set out at dusk, she wondered if Steve was remembering a different person. The war changed people. Maybe Steve was living off the memory of a man who no longer existed. Then again… she remembered Barnes' attempt at flirting with her at the pub in London. Maybe not.

Despite the brisk pace, her fingers around the ski sticks were numb with cold and her scarf had frosted over from the moisture of her breathing.

They'd walked all through the night, back along the trail the Commandos had taken down out of the mountains. Barnes tried leading her back to the place where the avalanche swept Steve away. Peggy had spent many of her childhood winters in the mountains, though, and redirected them to find the base of the avalanche. It would be faster than climbing the mountain if they didn't need to.

Ahead of Barnes, the sun inched over the horizon, dusky blue giving way to a pale but deepening pink, glinting on ice-crusted mountaintops and the roof of a small shelter hut, painting the clouds and the snow-covered slopes around them a glistening crimson.

"Finally," Barnes said. He'd stopped to scan the plane they'd just crossed as if to make sure he hadn't missed anything. "I thought this night would never end."

Using the opportunity their halt gave, Peggy reached for her pack to grab the metal water flask she'd kept between the sleeping bags to keep it from freezing. She took a swig, the sensation of the ice-cold water sliding down her throat near-painful, then handed it to Barnes. He grabbed it and gulped down several long draughts, proving that he'd lied through his teeth when she'd asked if he was thirsty earlier.

Personally, Peggy had preferred the cover of darkness with just the moon to guide them. They were far less likely to be spotted by a chance German patrol. The night had been cloudless. Calm. She squinted against the angry red glare coming up behind Barnes. "Red sky at morning …"

"Sailor take warning?" Barnes' eyebrows, encrusted with snow and ice, moved up his forehead in a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Didn't take you for superstitious." 

"My granddad served in the Royal Navy. You pick up a thing or two from an old sailor." Granddad Charles was usually right, too. No good weather ever came from such a deep red sunrise. 

"Fair enough." Barnes nodded toward his pack. "Do you want something to eat?" 

She shook her head. "We should save it for Steve. He's going to need it."

A muscle in Barnes' jaw jumped. "Did you really…" He adjusted the straps on his pack, turning away from her. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that he was scanning their surroundings again. "Could he really starve?"

"Given the right circumstances?" She had to stomp down on her imagination providing her with pictures of his body riddled with bullet holes, blood pooling around him. Steve wasn't impervious to enemy bullets. He might recover from gunshots quicker, but enough bullets and not enough energy in his body to repair the damage… There was no sense in sugarcoating anything. "Yes." 

"Of all the stupid things that he – " He stopped, breathing hard. His breath smoked in front of his face.

Time for a distraction. "Did you see the hut up there?" She inclined her head toward the mountain ahead of them, where clouds were beginning to roll in. That wasn't good. The last thing they needed now was more snow.

"Think he made it there?"

Her eyes still on the clouds – moving fast, moving far too fast for her liking – she replied, "He's resourceful. He may have."

"What you're not saying is that he's an idiot city boy who has no idea how to navigate the mountains, just like me."

That got her to look back at Barnes. "I didn't – "

A smirk flitted over his face. "You didn't have to. Seems like your poker face is – "

He stopped in mid-sentence, his posture going tense.

"What?"

"There!" He pointed toward an area maybe two, three-hundred feet ahead of them where fresh masses of snow had piled up, marking the spot where part of the avalanche ended.

"What, where?" Squinting against the glare of the sun, she couldn't see anything beyond snow covering several broken trees.

"That's his _shield_."

"I don't – "

"No, no, no, no," Barnes whispered, grabbing his ski sticks. "Not like this, not alone."

He pushed off, forceful, skiing at a speed that she had to work hard to keep up with. Just earlier that night, he'd still fallen on his arse trying to find his footing on the skis. Now, he was faster than she could ever hope to be. It would be unsettling if she didn't know all about the power of adrenaline. Adrenaline that made her heart pound in her ears as well.

Several feet ahead of her, Barnes kicked up snow when he came to a sharp halt. He bent down, and, good Lord… that really was Steve's shield. Concave side up, reflecting the sunlight. How Barnes had seen that, made that out against the glare of the sun on the snow, she had no idea.

"Steve!" Barnes looked around, shield in hand. He was breathing hard, turning like a frantic compass needle. 

"St – _God_." He went rigid, his face set in stone, just a muscle at his jaw jumping.

Peggy followed his line of sight. There was a torn-up hole in the snow, as if someone had fought their way free. Scarlet lines criss-crossed under the topmost layer of snow, spreading out like intricate spider-webs. A large, scarlet stain had melted a hollow and frozen into shining red ice. Her heart sank like a stone. Blood. Hot blood. A lot of it. A tree limb lay next to the scarlet hollow. A _tree limb_ , its broken end jagged, the short, broken-off side-branches like barbed wire. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself from throwing up. Her heart beat so loud in her ears it drowned out the wind.

"He must have sustained – "

"Don't," Barnes warned. "Don't say it. You don't know him." 

When she looked at Barnes, his face was still, just that muscle that still jumped in his jaw. She would have said he looked emotionless, but she saw the way he swallowed hard, like he was forcing himself not to gag. He squinted against the sunlight, snow on his eyelashes, the white clouds of his breath ripped away by the wind. "He's alive." He pointed ahead of him at the dragging, scarlet smears in the snow and started moving. "He's alive."

Peggy wasn't sure if he had really seen Steve or if he was just trying to convince himself. It didn't matter, though. She wasn't going to leave without Steve, either, alive or dead. Barnes' stubborn insistence gave her hope where her own pragmatism might have crippled her.

Three steps ahead, Barnes stopped. Peggy almost barreled into him. 

"Stevie," Barnes choked out.

She saw what he had: a flash of red and blue against the snow. An arm. A hand. The wind – cold, biting, cutting through her gear – picked up loose snow, drifting it against him. Another half hour and they would never have found him. Barnes skied faster. How he managed that, Peggy had no idea. They'd hiked and skied all through the bloody night, going uphill for most of it. She was exhausted, and she hadn't already had a full day and night of the same behind her. He should be dead on his feet.

Instead, he was like a bloodhound on a trail. Naturally, Barnes reached Steve before she did. One moment of rigidity, breathing hard, then he dropped to his knees. "Steve?"

Steve lay face down in the snow, his uniform torn, the skin visible through the rents bruised and crusted in dried blood and ice. The fingernails of his now blue-ish hands torn away but the revealed skin pink, proving that his healing had begun already. Peggy shuddered to think how he had looked right after the avalanche. 

Barnes' quietly whispered "No, no, no, don't do this to me, Amoretz," as he tried to turn Steve around, careful as though he were handling spun glass, was all but inaudible. Peggy recognized enough Yiddish to know that that hadn't been a term of endearment. Except it was, from Barnes.

She dropped to Steve's other side, helping Barnes turn him around and check his injuries, check for a pulse, for anything to quell the sinking feeling that they might be too late. How long had Steve been like this, face down? Even he could asphyxiate if he didn't have enough strength to at least turn his head. 

When they managed to turn him over, the heavily falling snow melted on his face, slow but steady, turning to trickles on his cheeks and lips. The snow was melting, yes, but it didn't seem like he was breathing. A bottomless pit threatened to open in her middle. Were they too late?

"You don't get to do this to me, dio dannato," Barnes murmured under heavy breaths. "You just don't, hear me, you god damn idiot?"

He'd pulled off his gloves to search for a pulse and she did the same, tried to, at least, but, God, her fingers were so cold she doubted she'd feel anything. It didn't matter. It was something to do. 

"You don't get to die, you jerk, not now, not after everything you survived already," Barnes muttered. "Remember that winter you caught pneumonia? You were down to eighty pounds soaking wet and you pulled through. What's a few broken bones and a flesh wound compared to that? Come on, wake up." Then, softer. "Wake up." 

Barnes was busy with Steve's wrist, but she knew that with severe hypothermia, he stood little chance of finding a pulse there. Peggy reached for his hand and redirected it to Steve's neck. Unlike her frozen fingers, his were warm, almost hot to the touch. How he managed that, she had no idea. It would help them, though, so the why didn't matter. 

Though he didn't say anything, the slow, measured exhalation and the entire way his body loosened told her he had found a pulse. Peggy fought a wave of dizzy relief. Good. That was something. Everything else, she hoped his accelerated healing, given time, shelter, and food, would take care of.

Steve still didn't stir. Around them, the wind was getting ever stronger, blowing snow into their eyes and onto Steve's skin, dusting the uniform and covering the blue as though trying to swallow him.

"I'll check his wounds," Peggy said. She needed to look for open wounds, something to explain the extreme blood loss and the tree limb. Mustn't forget the bloody tree limb. "Can you get the tarp and something to wrap him up?"

Barnes nodded and slipped his pack off his shoulders. His left hand only left Steve for the time it took to get his arms out of the straps.

Once she'd established that Steve's wounds were already closed and were nothing but pink scars anymore, Barnes sagged a little.

"I told you to let the damn mark go, but you never listen." He brushed the snow from Steve's forehead. "You don't get to do this. Agent Carter and I have walked all through the damn night to find you and now we have to haul your sorry ass back to camp through a snowstorm. No way in hell, Rogers. You wake up and you walk on your own."

"I don't think he can."

"What?"

"His body, he's … I believe he's in something like hibernation. He's burned through a lot of energy to heal the worst of the damage, but without any food around, he couldn't replenish it. So his body has made use of the cold and shut down any but the most vital functions."

"I don't fucking believe this," Barnes exclaimed. He poked Steve in the shoulder. "You're really going to make us drag your heavy ass through the snow?" 

Steve didn't respond.

The string of expletives that followed made Peggy force down a surprised chuckle. 

Barnes caught himself, giving her a sheepish look. "Sorry." 

"Please, don't mind me, Sergeant, if I weren't too bloody cold, I'd take notes." She quirked the corner of her mouth up. "That was truly inspired."

He ducked his head and gave her an apologetic smile. "He brings it out in a person."

She remembered the last time she went on a mission with Steve. It was Dugan who had to tell Steve to shut up and listen to her. Yes, she knew all about the urge to swear when Steven Rogers got brick-headed. "That he does."

"Here, take him," Barnes said, letting go with visible reluctance. "I'll get the tarp."

"Hurry," Peggy told him. "We're sitting ducks. We need to get off this snow field before a look out spots us from the valley."

Barnes unrolled and shook out the tarp, making the snow around them dance even faster. The heavy material flapped in the wind. "Did you see that hut ahead?" 

She followed his line of sight. "If it's one of the summer huts used by the goatherders, it would be our best chance for some shelter from the next storm."

"I take it this is going to be bad?"

"That's not just a couple of flurries."

Another string of creative, though quieter, expletives. "Why should it get any easier now?"

She helped him roll Steve on the tarp, mindful of his injuries, then tucked one of the sleeping bags around him. Healed or not, neither of them wanted to hurt him further. At least he was breathing.

"Ready?" Barnes, both hands on the tarp, asked over his shoulder when she got done. 

Their understanding was quiet – he'd drag Steve while she'd conceal their tracks in the snow. It'd be easier if she had had some pine, but everything in her rebelled against the thought of going back for the bloodied tree limb. She'd make do some other way. It might not be necessary if the storm got worse, but if it didn't, lookouts would still be able to see the indents in the snow. She'd rather be safe than sorry. "After you."


	4. IV. Shelter Hut, Central Apennines, March 1944

**IV.**

**Shelter Hut, Central Apennines, March 1944**

*******

**Peggy**

When they finally reached the hut what felt like hours later, several feet of snow had piled up high enough to half-cover both the shuttered window and the door. Barnes, out of breath and finally at the end of his strength after dragging Steve up the mountain, covered Steve while she used their field spade to shovel aside enough snow to open the door. At least they didn't have to worry about it being occupied – not in the winter.

Peggy squeezed her way through the gap first. Inside, it was dark and cold enough her breath still smoked in front of her, but, thank goodness for small mercies, it was dry. She let her torch glance over the interior and heaved a sigh of relief. The hut had a potbellied stove for heating. Not all the summer huts had stoves; they were incredibly lucky to run into one of the rare ones that did. Other than that, there were just two benches for sitting, a bale of straw in a corner, a small cupboard and a clean metal bucket – likely to melt snow.

They had to drag Steve inside, still on the tarp, turning him on his side because the door didn't open wide enough to permit his shoulders. They were both out of breath and swaying on their feet when they finally got him inside and closed the door behind them.

"Take him," Peggy said to Barnes while setting the torch on the table so it provided enough light to see what she was doing, "I'll take inventory, then start a fire." She trusted Barnes to be able to hold up Steve's dead weight long enough to prop him up against one wall.

A quick survey of the hut showed two moth eaten blankets on the bench, the bale of straw – likely for sleeping – , an oil lamp behind the door and a cupboard with a few aluminium cups and bowls as well as a few half-burnt candles and a bottle of oil for the lamp. She reached for a candle and closed the cupboard door. They were going to be asleep as soon as their heads hit the floor anyway, it made no sense to light the lamp and waste the oil.

The small stove didn't seem like much, but Peggy knew from experience that the little buggers could throw out a lot of heat when fired properly. Which … could be a problem. She looked around the single room and only found a couple of pieces of firewood piled under the shuttered window. If she wanted more, she'd have to go outside and hope someone had left a supply. That would mean shovelling her way through the snow to the open shed she'd seen leaning against one side of the hut. If she could get the door to open again. She locked her jaw and shook her head. _Prioritise, Carter._ Get the fire going first, worry about the rest later.

The stove was clean and free of ash, though the metal bucket next to it showed signs of ash and soot. Inside, kindling wood had been piled up. There were matches on the metal pan just outside the stove.

The sulphuric smell of the old and crumbling match striking hung in the air like a promise of warmth to come. Or maybe of hellfire. Who knew.

Hurry, she thought when she looked over at Steve and Barnes.

Barnes had propped Steve against the wall with the damp sleeping bag draped over his shoulders and his legs stretched out. He was attempting to open his rucksack, but his fingers weren't cooperating and his mouth had set in a tight line.

"Let me," she said.

Barnes shook his head. "I've got this. Get the fire going. We both need to warm up if we want to be of any use to him." 

She threw him a candle and he caught it with the hand that wasn't propping Steve up. "Can you set this on your mess kit plate? I want to save as much battery from the torch as possible."

"Torch?"

She nodded toward the lamp. "I thought you had Falsworth on your team."

He smirked at her and she realised that he'd got her. "Light the bloody candle, man."

Peggy eyed the meagre supply of firewood again and measured the room. It would provide heat for about two hours, maybe. A little longer if they stayed very close to the stove. After that …

"I'll help you shovel," Barnes said, proving that he'd assessed the situation as well. 

While behind her, a familiar clink-scratch noise told her that Barnes had used his Zippo to light the candle, the kindling wood caught with a crackling hiss. Peggy carefully fed in the first piece of dry wood. The tiny flames crawled up it and began burning too. She breathed in the dry heat pressing against her face, feeling it sting her nose and eyes, added more wood, then closed the stove's door. As soon as it produced enough heat and they'd warmed up a little, she needed to melt snow so they could fill their canteens.

A grunting noise behind her alerted her of Barnes dragging Steve closer to the stove. In the combined light from the torch and the candle that he'd set on the bench in his aluminium plate, she saw that his lips were blue from the cold. Despite the exertion of dragging Steve up here on that tarp – or maybe because of it – shivers wracked him. He'd managed to get the top part of Steve's uniform off while Peggy nursed the fire. The blue-red-and-white garment lay crumpled on the floor. How Steve hadn't frozen to death in nothing but that flimsy material, she didn't know, but she guessed she'd have to thank Stark when she saw him again.

"We need to warm him up," Barnes said, "he's freezing." His breath smoked before him.

"So are we," Peggy answered, fighting to keep her teeth from chattering. She shut off her torch. "It's probably best to get out of the wet clothes and share what little warmth we three have between us before the oven manages to produce enough heat to warm the place."

"Are the other sleeping rolls still dry?"

"Should be," Barnes said, going for his backpack, "they're the mountain troops' new rolls. Supposed to be waterproof. Warmer than the regular rolls, too."

She held out a hand and Barnes reached to his side to slide his backpack over while somehow still managing to hold on to Steve.

"Come on, Stevie, wakey, wakey, we need a little help here," he gently coaxed Steve.

For the first time since they found him, Steve stirred a little and groaned under his breath but he didn't open his eyes.

Barnes shot her an apologetic look. "Can you get them out by yourself? I don't think I'm going to be much help with an armful of half-frozen idiot here."

Peggy nodded but moved to hang up the tarp to dry. Along with the straw for the ground and the wool blankets, it would provide an added layer of insulation in the bare-bones room. 

"Do you want to eat first?" she asked Barnes.

"Steve needs to eat," he answered.

"That's going to be difficult while he's still unconscious," she said over her shoulder while trying to wrestle the tarp. "Nah," Barnes said. "I'm used to it. When you're done with this, can you hand me the cod liver oil and the honey?"

Peggy stopped wrestling the uncooperative tarp and shot him a surprised look.

"He had a really rough time when he was about twelve. His ma showed me how to care for him so she could work the weekend shift at the hospital."

"Twelve?" she said, now letting the tarp sink for good. "That's frightfully young to be a caretaker."

Barnes shrugged. "I didn't mind and they had no one else."

"He had you. Still has, by the looks of it."

Barnes looked away from her. "Much good it did him."

Peggy decided to let the self-deprecating comment go and poked through the rucksack for the cod-liver oil and the honey. Artificial honey, but better than nothing.

"I just hope he never remembers this." Barnes grimaced as she handed jar and bottle to him. "He used to hate cod-liver oil."

Peggy bit back on a smile. "Can you blame him?" Her father used to insist she was too skinny as a child and added cod-liver oil to her daily diet. The memory of its taste still made her gag.

Barnes laughed. "God, no." His tone made it sound like he knew exactly how disgusting it was.

Peggy's attention was caught by the strangely intimate way Barnes rested Steve's head against his shoulder and nudged a honey-smeared finger into his mouth. The digit disappeared between Steve's lips and left a sugary residue. Vaguely, Peggy saw Steve's cheeks hollowing in the slightest sucking motion, then he swallowed. His eyes moved under his lids, his temple pressed against Barnes' neck. Her reaction was highly inappropriate, but good lord, there was something beautiful about them.

"Sorry," Barnes said, flickering an apologetic smile her way. "No time for a spoon."

Peggy thanked her maker that he had misinterpreted her stare. "It's the most efficient way," she agreed. "I don't mind." She went back to hanging up the tarp, both to get it done and to get herself under control again. Maybe it was the long walk and the lack of sleep. She was not usually so easily distracted.

With Steve already wrapped up in one, Peggy unrolled the remaining two of the mummy sleeping bags as close to the stove as possible, then zipped them together. The sleeping arrangements would be uncomfortable, but at least they'd be warm if she added a layer of fresh straw and the two moth-holed wool blanket to the sleeping bag arrangement.

"If he fights me over the oil, I might need your help."

Peggy nodded, and hoped that Steve being unconscious would also mean that he only had a fraction of his strength. Otherwise, it would be worse than wrestling a bear. "Anything else you need help with?"

Barnes shot her a grateful smile. "Can you get off his boots and pants?"

Peggy stopped short of giving him a scandalised look before she remembered that he meant his trousers. She untied Steve's laces, glad that the boots were made well enough the avalanche hadn't torn them off his feet.

"Thanks," Barnes said. "I know this isn't ideal, but I can't lift him and pull off his pants at the same time, he's no longer ninety pounds."

She remembered what he'd told her earlier. "I take it you have some experience in this as well?" she asked as she moved to kneel in front of Steve.

"Not at this weight, but before?" Barnes rolled his eyes. "You have no idea." He slid up behind Steve and reached under his arms. "I lift, you pull."

It took some grunting and serious pulling. The wet material refused to slide off Steve's legs easily, but they managed it. Peggy scooped up the wet top and draped it and Steve's pants over the bench so they would dry.

Barnes set Steve down with a huff, then, chest rising and falling under heavy breaths, he smirked at her. "Now that's some quality teasing material right there. Gets undressed by Agent Carter and sleeps right through it."

He didn't make it sound suggestive, so Peggy felt free to respond in kind. "Wait until he wakes up in the morning with the both of us to his left and right," she said.

Barnes' eyes widened. The bark of laughter she got made taking the risk worthwhile.

After she'd spread a thick layer of straw on the ground and spread the blanket over it, they managed to roll Steve, now down to his underwear, on the makeshift-mattress with some difficulty. When, still completely out of it, they'd settled him, Peggy spread the two zipped up sleeping bags over him. It wouldn't leave a lot of cover for her and Barnes unless they both pressed close against Steve. Which was the best for all three of them anyway, at least until the stove produced enough heat to make it even marginally comfortable in the hut and dry the damp sleeping bag in which they'd transported Steve here. 

She noticed Barnes watching her while he fumbled with the buttons on his damp blue jacket. His hands were an angry red. She hoped none of the digits were frozen. She needed to check her own, and her toes, for signs of frostbite.

"Thanks," he said, nodding toward Steve.

"Shut up," she answered and slapped his hands aside to undo the buttons for him. Her hands had warmed up a little when she was starting the fire, after all.

They stripped quickly, spreading their clothes over the other bench and placing their boots and Steve's as close to the stove as they dared.

Peggy braced herself for Barnes to make a comment once she was down to her knickers, but to her surprise, it never came. Barnes didn't even look, just settled himself next to Steve. Once, shivering, he'd managed to twist enough that the top half of the sleeping bag was covering his shoulders and arm, he slid up and pressed close to Steve's back, his arm slung around his chest, his chin hooked over Steve's shoulder. It looked like something he'd done dozens of times, but with a smaller person.

"Don't worry," he said, looking toward the fire and still not at her. "I'm not gonna make a move on you, wouldn't even if Stevie weren't right between us." He shot her a quick glance that focused on her face. "Not gonna tell anyone about this."

She would have killed him if she'd caught him, but still. It was nice to hear him say it.

Peggy sat and arranged the sleeping bag around herself. "About what?" she asked. Barnes wasn't looking at her, so it made no sense to wink, but she smirked. "You and me sandwiching a half-frozen man?" She shrugged. "Not the strangest thing either of us have done, is it?" She smiled and pressed herself against Steve's front, pulling the sleeping bag so it would at least cover her back. Underneath her, the wool blanket felt scratchy against her bare legs and straw poked through the holes. 

Steve's skin was chilled to the touch and Barnes' hand, where it pressed against her chest now that she was up against Steve's front, was even colder. She suppressed a shiver.

"Sorry," Barnes said, moving his hand.

"Not like you chose this, is it?"

"God, no," he replied on a huffed laugh. "While the company and the sleeping arrangements are nice, I can imagine better accommodation. And a less strenuous travel route."

"Hear, hear," she said.

In the stove, the wood crackled and Barnes lifted his head. "How long?" he asked.

"An hour, maybe one and a half at the most."

His head connected with the floor with a dull thud. "Damn it."

"I'll help —"

"Yeah, none of that. One of us has to stay with him, keep him warm."

Peggy tensed. "And that has to be me?" She was so tired of the veiled sexism that continued to be flung her way.

"Hey, if you want to shovel your way through the snow, you're welcome. All I'm saying is that one of us needs to stay with him. Whether that's you or I doesn't matter." Barnes took a deep breath, released it again. "I really thought I had enough on my hands constantly fighting Steve's inferiority issues and stubbornness."

"I don't – "

"Okay, fine, you don't. You're not inferior. I'm not implying that. Jesus." She heard the rustle of the blanket scraping over straw and rough wooden planks as he shook his head. "I would have offered the same to one of the guys."

Peggy bit down on her sarcastic reply. Barnes hadn't given her reason to doubt his words yet, after all. That didn't mean he was better than the rest, but it just didn't make sense to have antagonism between them in such close quarters.

"How was that like?" she asked eventually to lighten the mood.

"What?" Barnes sounded weary and wary at the same time.

"Being friends with Steve before the serum."

That half-amused, half-weary laugh escaped him again. "Like living with an overactive volcano," Barnes said. She felt his hand curl around Steve's midriff, belying his words with the gentle gesture. "Felt like I was constantly getting him out of fights he started out of righteous anger because he felt someone had been wronged."

"You had to get him out?"

"He didn't always look like this." Something protective crept into Barnes' voice.

"I know," Peggy said. Steve may not have told him the whole story, so she resisted the urge to snap at him. "The first time I met him, he was in an assembly line, a head and a half shorter than all the other recruits around him. I actually thought someone had made a mistake, but Dr. Erskine asked me to trust him." Talking about Erskine hurt. She'd liked his impish sense of humour and his relentless kindness. A marvel, considering his history. She forced her thoughts away from Erskine and back to Steve. "I was concerned, watching him struggle through basic training."

"Did they treat him okay?" Barnes asked. He sounded sharp now.

It made no sense lying to him. "As well as you can imagine a group of war-crazy recruits treating someone they see as the weak link in the chain." Barnes tensed and she heard him grind his teeth. "What he lacked in brawn, he made up in brains, though." She chuckled when she remembered a certain incident. "Did he ever tell you about the flag?" Better not to tell him the story with the grenade.

"They had one of those 'get the flag and you get an extra helping at dinner' spiels, too?" he asked. "That's a fucking cruel game. No one ever got that flag." A beat and he added, "Pardon my French."

"Steve did," she said, smirking.

Barnes raised his head. "You're messing with me."

"I certainly am not," she said. "Your friend, with all his ninety pounds and his weak health, got that flag."

He narrowed his eyes. "How?"

"Brains," she said. "Creative problem solving. He removed the pin from the bottom and just upended the flagpole, then got the flag."

Barnes' chuckles travelled through Steve's body and reached her, too. "He never understood how much better he was from the rest. Still doesn't."

"That's one of the reasons Dr. Erskine chose him." She was giving away classified information, but something in her told her that Barnes would never divulge this.

"Was it his choice?" Barnes asked after a small silence. "The procedure? No one made him do it?"

His desperate tone served as a reminder of what she'd read about Barnes' stay in the work camp. "Have you ever met anyone who could make Steve do something he didn't want to?" she asked to lighten the mood.

It worked. Barnes chuckled again. "No."

"You know," she said when the silence stretched again and she feared Barnes was slipping into the dark spaces in his head, "I still can't believe he never danced."

Barnes huffed. "Me neither. Though, well, maybe for the better. He never had a chance to practice." A smirk flashed over his face. "Probably would have trampled all over the poor girl's feet." The straw rustled as he shook his head. "Made me angry, you know? All those girls who wouldn't look at him twice, never giving him a chance because he was small and skinny."

"Clearly, they were idiots," Peggy agreed.

"It's not like you would have been interested in him if you had known him before."

"Do you really consider me that shallow?" she asked. The accusation stung. "Besides, I _did_ know him before." She took a deep breath and spilled a secret she never had before, "I thought he had the loveliest eyes. I think I almost liked them better before." She pushed up on one elbow to glare a warning at Barnes. "If you ever breathe a word of this to Steve or anyone, I will kill you."

He didn't laugh, didn't comment. Instead, his smile spread slowly, surprised. "You surprise me, Agent Carter."

"Oh, please," she said. "We've battled through a blizzard together and we're in our knickers. You should call me Peggy." This wasn't wise, not at all. If word got out they were on first name basis, what precious little respect she had from the SIS would be lost. It still felt right to extend the offer.

"Bucky," he replied, his smile widening. "Just here, though," he added. "Can't let the brass know you're fraternising with the grunts."

"Don't see any grunts around," she said. "But thank you."

"You're a puzzle," he said, closing his eyes and nuzzling closer to Steve when Steve shivered. "I like puzzles."

Peggy smiled.

*******

A blast of cold air woke her from a pleasant dream of warmth and safety. The lingering feeling of being gently cocooned from the dream made it hard to arrive back in the reality of the cold hut. Weak light filtered through the now unshuttered window. When had Barnes opened it?

Steve felt like a furnace, indicating that the serum was doing its job. The rest of the hut was bloody cold again, however.

When she looked up over Steve's shoulder, Barnes was missing from their awkward bed and the hut. She wasn't amused that he hadn't woken her to let her help with the firewood, but she was rather impressed that he'd managed to leave without waking her. 

A glance toward the stove showed her that the last meagre embers were still glowing, but wouldn't be for much longer. They could only hope that the firewood outside the hut was stored under a tarp that kept it from getting wet or they'd have a problem quickly.

Peggy took Steve's pulse and found it steady. She battled down the pleasure she took in running her hand over his skin, feeling the muscles and bones defined underneath. Since he was asleep, it felt like taking something that wasn't hers to take. It didn't stop her body from warming and she couldn't help enjoying the way Steve hummed under his breath and inched closer to her, securing his arm around her and pulling her closer as if she were the world's largest teddy bear.

So much for getting up and helping Barnes.

Now that she'd shaken the initial disorientation, she realized the wind was howling outside and rattling the door. Maybe opening the shutters hadn't been Barnes' best idea, though it would save them lamp oil during the day. She thought she could hear Barnes moving around, and a steady hiss-shuff noise indicated he was shoveling snow. It was occasionally interrupted by some rather colourful swearing.

She really should get out there and help, they'd be done quicker if they were both shovelling the snow.

"Steve," she tried, carefully trying to pry his fingers loose.

"Too cold, Buck," Steve mumbled under his breath and burrowed closer.

Outside the hut, a shout of victory interrupted the shovelling noise. Clearly, Barnes had reached the stash of firewood. Now, if she could at least open the door for him, they'd lose less warmth when he came back inside with his arms full.

"Steve," she tried again, a little louder this time.

An inarticulate noise of protest was her only answer.

Outside, the dull sound of wood being dropped, piece by piece, joined the wail of the wind.

She was trapped and trying to slither out from Steve's grip seemed unlikely. Either she managed to trick her way out of there – without waking him – or they risked losing the paltry warmth left in the hut when Barnes brought in the firewood. Was it time for drastic measures already?

There wasn't time to think about what those measures would entail. The door flew open, and a blast of downright arctic air flooded the hut within seconds. Steve tensed and curled in on himself – and her, for that matter – burrowing under the blanket. The noises of protest grew louder, the vibrations of them travelling from his skin to hers. He didn't let go of her, indeed clutched her even tighter instead so that she had a hard time breathing.

Smothered against Steve's broad chest, Peggy couldn't see what Barnes was doing, but she heard a sliding noise and then the thud of the hut's door slamming shut again. It was followed by some subdued muttering that distinctly sounded like, "I hate the winter," and the hollow sound of Barnes blowing into his hands.

She pushed against Steve's hold, and, miracle of miracles, he loosened his iron grip on her. When she could lift her head enough to look at where Barnes was standing – or rather, crouching – near the potbellied stove, she said, "Thank you."

Barnes turned slowly. His scarf, eyebrows and the hair that escaped the cap were encrusted with snow; his cheeks red. "Didn't mean to wake you." He concentrated on the stove again and she saw that he'd repurposed the tarp and used it to drag a impressive amount of firewood in all at once.

She gaped at him in a way that she knew couldn't be very flattering. "Seriously? You go out into the storm to get us firewood so we don't freeze our arses off and you apologise for waking me?" She shook her head. "You're peculiar."

"Peculiar?" A slow smile spread over his face. "I like the sound of that."

"It wasn't meant as a compliment." What a lie. Of course, it was. She could see that he knew she knew.

Peggy tried to extricate her arm, but failed when Steve clamped on again. "I'd offer to take over so you can warm up, but… "

Barnes' smile morphed into a grin. "Oh. I see."

"It's not like that," Peggy protested.

The grin grew wider. "Like what?"

"The way it looks like." Peggy tried to sound dignified but knew she fell about two feet short of it.

Barnes raised his eyebrows. The bastard. "What do you think it looks like?"

It was a shame she couldn't cross her arms, it would have made her glare more efficient. "I do understand now why Steve always said you had far too smart a mouth on you than was good for you, Barnes."

"You're evading, Peggy. And it's Bucky, remember?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. Had offering first name basis been a bad idea? Or did he really just like to tease?

His grin faltered. "I meant no disrespect."

Now it was Peggy's turn to smirk. "Of course, you did."

He didn't return her smile. "You can call me a lot of things. Disrespectful to women is not among them."

"To women in general or to your idea of them?"

"Does that make a difference as long as it's genuine?"

He sounded sincere, so she decided to let it drop before barging forward into an argument.

"You're evading, _Bucky_ ," she mimicked his earlier teasing tone. "And it's Peggy, remember?"

"You're a handful," he said, chuckling.

"I'm a little more than that, thank you very much."

Barnes gave her and Steve a long once-over, nodding toward the way Steve was clutching at her. "Yes, clearly, you're two of Steve's handful."

"If I could move, I'd throw something at your head now."

"Isn't it my lucky day?" His teeth chattered as he teased, reminding her he had been out working while she enjoyed the warmth of cuddling Steve Rogers.

"Don't just stand there. Put some of that wood on the fire and then strip."

His eyebrows shot up his forehead in a comical fashion. "Agent Carter!" he said, mock-scandalised.

"Out of your sweat-soaked undershirt so you can dry it. Do men always have to be lewd?" She huffed a sigh, which only made Steve pull her closer. Not the best plan, that. Her ribs were beginning to protest. And it was getting hard to breathe.

"If you want him to let go, try…" Indicating his chest, Barnes made a twisting gesture with his thumb and index finger.

Peggy blinked at him. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?"

"It works." Barnes shrugged.

"I take it you're no stranger to Steve's more proprietal sleeping style?"

"We grew up together. I'm no stranger to Steve considering me his personal teddy bear."

"How is that?"

"When we were kids, he used to sleep over at our place a lot." He caught Peggy's quizzical glance. "His mom worked night shifts in the hospital." He grinned. "There were mornings I'd have to resort to either pinching him or using my knee if I ever wanted to go to the john."

"I'm not going to twist his nipple," she said, wincing in sympathy.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Well, maybe, once you're finally done talking and have come back to bed, he'll clamp on to you."

Barnes smirked at her. "Not his favourite side."

It amazed her that he left the opening in her sentence and didn't run with it as anyone else would have. Instead, he busied himself with opening the stove's door and stuffing several pieces of wood inside. "Besides, I kind of like being the big spoon again."

That sounded far too melancholy and Peggy raised her head a little to watch Barnes' outline in the glow from the fire. "You miss him, don't you?"

His shoulders sagged and he continued to stare into the fire. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the wood catching fire. "It's weird, right? I mean, he's right here, and he's still Steve… " He ran a hand over his face. "And still I miss him."

"Go on then," she urged to take his mind off his loss. "Take that shirt off."

He looked at her, the melancholy mood replaced by mischievousness. "There are so many comebacks to that one — "

"And you'd be wise not to utter even one." She gave him a sweet smile. "Are you a wise man?"

His facial expression was a blend between a wince and a sardonic smirk. "Not really. Ask Steve." He unbuttoned his jacket and she saw his fingers were an angry red. "Or any of the Commandos." The jacket landed on the floor with a heavy thud. "Or my sisters."

"You have sisters?" she asked while Steve splayed his hand over her back and flexed his fingers like a cat. "Cut it out, Captain, I'm not a mother cat giving milk and you are most certainly too big to be a kitten." Much to her surprise, Steve stilled. Above her, Barnes badly muffled a guffaw behind his hand. He was down to his undershirt now. His other shirt was draped over the back of the bench. Gooseflesh already pebbled his skin, reminding her that the room was a lot cooler than Steve's warm embrace.

"Quickly now, it'd be a shame if you froze."

Barnes gave her a look from under his lashes. "Would it now?"

Peggy rolled her eyes at him. "Stop speaking and get in bed."

"Yes, Ma'am!" He threw her a lazy salute, then pulled off his undershirt as well. In the low light from the oven and the dim early morning, he looked lean, flexible and well-muscled without being as sculpted as Steve. His dog tags glinted against his skin and a light smattering of dark chest hair. Peggy wondered if it would feel as soft against her fingertips as it looked. She would need to touch his ribcage to see if the light was throwing unfortunate shadows or if he really was underweight and needed more rations.

"Like what you see?" he asked, eyebrow cocked.

"Not too shabby." She refused to blush and pointedly nodded toward his goosebumps and his nipples, which had shrunk down to small nubs in the cold air. "Would be more impressive if you weren't shivering like a half-drowned dog."

"And they say the English are always polite," Barnes groused, then lay down on the floor next to Steve. He lifted the sleeping bag covering Steve and a blast of cold air hit Peggy. 

"We are, when the situation merits it." She reached out over Steve's body, found Barnes' waist and pulled him closer. His skin felt ice-cold to the touch. "Close that gap and cover up."

Next to her, Steve jerked when Barnes pressed up against him. He mumbled some unintelligible protest and squeezed closer to Peggy to get away from Barnes' cold skin. It was all she could do to hold on to Barnes so he wouldn't be left outside the pile of blankets.

"Shush, Stevie," Barnes said, low and gentle. "Just a few minutes, we'll all be warm."

Much to her surprise, Steve settled immediately upon hearing Barnes' voice. When she no longer felt him tremble, Peggy asked, to make conversation, "How's the weather outside?"

Barnes shifted, then hummed a tune under his breath that had been very popular with the American troops this past Christmas while giving her a grin over Steve's shoulder that crinkled the sides of his eyes.

"That's your answer? _'White Christmas'?_ "

He grinned wider. She pinched his waist and he yelped, then covered her hand with his elbow. "Can we continue this in a few hours? I'm tired."

Peggy was about to protest the innuendo, but lifted her head to look at him and found his eyes closed already, long lashes fanning his cheekbones. He pressed up close to Steve, and it would have been easy for him to reach out for her as well, and grope – but he hadn't. He'd been quite the gentleman so far, though he was hard to get a read on. She liked that.

She gave him a couple more minutes, and when his breathing became slower and deeper, Peggy ran her thumb along his slowly warming skin and flexed her fingers a little to feel his ribs. Not a trick of the light, then; they were far too prominent. She'd have to watch out for that when they were back. Barnes likely wasn't the only one. The Commandos must be running themselves into the ground keeping up with Steve.

"Not a mother cat," came the sleepy protest.

Peggy chuckled, pinched him once more for good measure and relaxed into Steve's embrace.

*******

**Bucky**

Bucky woke to an amused female voice saying, "Well, this is awkward."

Opening his eyes took him a couple of breaths; he was far too comfortable and warm to leave the pleasant sluggishness of sleep behind.

Steve scooted back, hard, against Bucky's front, snapping him wide awake. Steve's nervous stuttering pitched even higher. Not the greatest situation in the world. Steve was pressing his ass directly against Bucky's dick. Before, that stimulation would have got him very interested, would have had his dick hard as a rock. Right now, it was just uncomfortable as hell that it _wasn't_.

"Ngh," was the most intelligent comment he could come up with.

Steve froze, stuttered some more, "Sorry, sorry, I, sorry," and moved away from Bucky toward Carter, which provided momentary relief for Bucky, but made Steve freeze and scoot back again – into the same position he'd been in before.

"Steve," Bucky ground out from between clenched teeth. That was far, far too much stimulation in the morning. Stimulation that should have worked. He knew it should have. It always did before. "For the love of God – "

"Sorry, I …" Steve rocked again, forth and back and forth, until finally, _Carter_ moved, wrestled Steve onto his back and pressed him against the floor. "Stop. Moving." Her murderous expression combined with the way she was now holding Steve captive – her hands immobilising his arms, her knees to the left and right of his hips, her loose hair falling forward – had Steve swallowing. Steve and Carter were breathing fast, and Bucky swore he could smell Steve's scent changing. Carter licked her lips. Steve's lips parted. Clinically, Bucky thought, If I weren't here, if Carter would lower her butt now, if Steve would just move…

He really wished he was anywhere but here. If he weren't, maybe they'd finally give it a try. Maybe Carter would overwhelm Steve and get him over that damn idea of what was proper and make him do what came naturally. She seemed like the kind of woman to take what she wanted.

Carter shifted her left knee and that forcefully reminded Bucky that watching them should have been a turn on, that his dick should have taken an interest by now – but still, nothing. _Nothing. Maybe Zola had zapped his libido out of him on that table, somewhere between one of the injections and yet another electric shock. Bucky groaned and rolled out from under the blankets. He wasn't ready to face that downward spiral of thoughts again. Not here. Not now._

_Carter let go of Steve and rolled to her own back with a laugh that sounded a bit forced. "I had a _brother_." Her voice was both amused and annoyed. "You do both realise that I'm familiar with men waking up with erections, aren't you?"_

_If only, Bucky thought. If fucking only. At least she hadn't noticed his lack of interest._

_"Can we not talk about this now?" Steve pleaded. He'd turned beet red._

_Concentrating on the awkward dynamic between Steve and Carter was a good distraction from his own thoughts. It seemed strange, her mentioning something that could give her so much trouble if he or Steve were the types to run their mouths. Bucky didn't get that, not when he figured Carter caught enough flak about being a woman in the army anyway._

_"Never mind." She sounded all business again, but gentle underneath. She could have continued teasing Steve, but must have sensed his vulnerability. It eased an ugly knot Bucky had felt forming under his breastbone. "How are you feeling?"_

_"Besides embarrassed as hell?"_

_The corners of Carter's mouth kicked up. "Yes, besides that."_

_"Surprised you're here." He looked between Carter and Bucky. "Torn between yelling at you for taking such a risk and k —" Steve stopped, coughed and continued, "hugging you."_

_"So which one wins?"_

_"Jury's out on that."_

_"Well," Carter said, sitting up, "while you decide, I'm going to go outside for a moment." She reached for her clothes and started to get dressed._

_Steve pushed up on his elbows and looked toward the door. "Outside? Wh – " It was near comical to watch him realise that Carter had only been half-clothed. Who knew his face could get even redder?_

_"Maybe you can fill him in on our whereabouts in the meantime?"_

_Bucky nodded and pulled the sleeping bag higher to cover himself from the inevitable blast of cold air that was about to flood the hut. "Sure." He caught Steve staring at Carter's back while she got dressed, his eyes round._

_"Hey," he swatted Steve's arm. "Haven't I taught you anything?"_

__

*******

**Peggy**

Crikey O'Reilly, it was freezing out there. Freezing was good, though. Freezing made sure she didn't follow the urge to go back inside, crawl underneath the sleeping bag, press up against Steve, run her hands all over that tempting body and see how he'd react when she really warmed him up.

Peggy groaned under her breath, shoved her hands into the mountain of snow Barnes had shovelled to get to the firewood, then rubbed two handfuls of snow over her face with vigour.

It didn't help to ease the burning in her cheeks or the distinct feeling of dampness her underwear… _Quit lying to yourself, Margaret: If Barnes hadn't been there, you would have pressed yourself against Steve. Would have kissed him just to see how he'd react. _It was the war, damn it, she could be dead tomorrow, why the bloody hell shouldn't she take what she wanted for once?__

__Barnes, though. Not that she regretted him being here – without him, she never would have dragged Steve's ridiculously large and heavy body to the hut. Barnes had proven a great travel companion and a more than decent man. Besides that, he made an excellent – and very handsome – chaperone. She just didn't think Steve was anywhere near adventurous enough – seriously, _Fondue?_ – to try anything while Barnes slept beside them._ _

__Then again, maybe... _Stop. You know that that way lies trouble._ Barnes had been breathing fast, hadn't he? Her knee had hit his thigh when she'd shifted her weight and pinned Steve. Steve had definitely been aroused and she'd been so focused on him she wasn't sure about Barnes. He'd pulled away though. Not immediately, but fast, and looked away too. Had he been as affected as Steve, the three of them together on the floor, intimately close and down to their skivvies? If so, he'd been more discreet about it than Steve. He wasn't a prude, he hadn't been embarrassed or disgusted, and she couldn't think of another reason he'd have shied away from them. The possibility just added to her own problem._ _

___Who would know?_ a small but insistent voice at the back of her mind asked._ _

__"Snow, snow, much more snow," she muttered to herself, sticking her entire head in the snow. It was a relief, at least, to know that neither Steve nor Barnes would follow her outside while they thought she was peeing. Seeing her with her arse in the air and her head in the snow like a mad duck surely would have raised questions._ _

__"Get a grip, Margaret, this would ruin your career," she mumbled into the snow. "You haven't come this far just to let your bloody libido take over now." It was enough that happened once. No need to repeat past mistakes. Though Lizzie and Fin hadn't been a mistake, she corrected herself. They had merely had unfortunate timing._ _

__She collapsed into the snow with a groan and rolled to her back. Snow slid underneath her collar and down her back and that, that finally proved effective: Peggy jumped up and hopped around to get the clump of snow out from underneath her shirt and jacket. Michael had loved doing that – shoving snowballs down the back of her coat, and like always, thinking of Michael distracted her from her previous thoughts._ _

__She remembered Dad taking Michael and her skiing in the alps. Remembered Dad telling Mum that he saw no reason to treat Peggy any differently from Michael just because she was a girl. Remembered Mum's horror. Dad laughing. Michael tackling her to the ground. Her dirtiest, most effective moves, she'd learned from him. Michael would have laughed his arse off if he could have seen the situation she found herself facing here, could he have looked inside her head. Peggy grinned to herself. She was lucky that was the one thing he had never managed, no matter how close their bond had been._ _

__A gust of wind blew a fresh whirl of snow into her face. She hugged her arms around herself and remembered that she'd come out here to pee. This was one of her least favourite parts of a mission. While she didn't mind al fresco peeing, she vastly preferred the comfort of her own loo. When she'd spent the summers at her grandmother's house in the country, she'd locked herself in the – blessedly water-flushed – outhouse and read, because Gran insisted that reading too many books would rot a young girl's brain._ _

__Shoving snow aside with her foot, she quickly unbuttoned her khakis and crouched down to relieve herself. Yes, the outhouse at Gran's, even in the winters, was better than the wind nearly freezing off her privates._ _

__Buttoning up again, she looked at the mountains around her and thanked their lucky stars that she and Barnes had found Steve. It would have been easier if the brass had let Howard put that tracker in Steve's uniform the way he'd wanted. It hadn't bothered Steve, which surprised her at the time. "A lot of money went into Project Rebirth," he'd said with a smile that was skirting cynicism far too much for her liking. "No one would want to lose me, right?"_ _

__He'd been right, of course, and his very astute reasoning was what made Rheet's decision not to go after Steve even less understandable. Unless … A gust of wind tore what little warmth she'd left from her body. Hydra couldn't have infiltrated the US military, could they?_ _

__"Hey," a voice came, dulled from behind the closed door of the hut. Barnes. "Other people need to use the facilities, too!"_ _

__Peggy grinned, glad she'd found her composure again, walked closer to the door and yelled back, "I thought you were soldiers. Too shy too pee in company?"_ _

__"The company we're used to is usually more male."_ _

__She was tempted to wait and see how long it would take him to come outside. She would have if she weren't so bloody cold._ _

__"Besides, somebody needs to watch over Steve – "_ _

__"Hey! No one needs to watch over – "_ _

__A sound like a scuffle. "— to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."_ _

__That, she could get behind. Steve might get the idea into his head that they should leave straight away. With the way the sky was turning dark over the mountains, that definitely would be a bad idea, even if Steve wasn't still weak. She'd monitored his food intake, and it wasn't nearly enough to make up for what he lost due to the cold, blood loss and his body knitting itself back together. They'd have to go through most of their supplies to manage that. She had no intentions of leaving the hut before unless absolutely necessary._ _

__That voice at the back of her head again. _Who would know?__ _

__"Shut up," she snarled._ _

__It was a relief Barnes was there too._ _

____

*******

**Steve**

Steve dreamt of Bucky saving him, the way Bucky always saved him before. Even though he protested it when they were boys, he always knew and trusted Bucky would be there for him. It was strange to have Peggy's voice enter that dream as well. Strange but oh so pleasant.

What definitely was pleasant, too, was waking up, realising that Bucky really had saved him. He knew Bucky's scent, even under cheap military soap and sweat. But then he realized that Peggy was there as well… And he was having the worst morning wood he'd sported in a long time. If they'd been alone, if Bucky had been hard, too… He might have had the chance to carefully address some of the feelings he'd felt changing between him and Bucky since they had grown from boys to adults. But with Peggy here, it was just too awkward. He felt even guiltier, because Bucky didn't have the same problem.

Of course, he went and made it even more awkward by jerking back and forth between the two people who had starred in all of his most interesting dreams.

He hadn't expected Peggy would lose her temper and full-body stop him from moving. That was going to star in his dreams from now on. He was still proud of himself for not whimpering at the feel of her thighs around his waist and her hair almost sliding against his lips, or Bucky's irregular breathing next to them and the distinctive way that Peggy's scent changed to something deeper, warmer. At the sight of Peggy getting dressed, her body limned by the pale light from the window and the golden light from the oil lamp.

If he didn't want to let slip some embarrassing truths, Steve needed to get them moving soon. Which was necessary besides his personal discomfort – he presumed they were still in enemy territory.

"Don't even think about it," Bucky told him once Peggy had left the hut. He was still on his side next to Steve, a long line of warmth warding off the chill of the room.

"What?"

"I know how that big noggin up there works." Bucky pushed onto his elbow and rapped his knuckles against Steve's temple. "I know what you're thinking."

Steve breathed out, his muscles relaxing a fraction. This was familiar territory. "Oh?"

"Yup. I'm the great Buchanan, remember? I can read minds." Bucky grinned. "Or I can read yours, at least."

Very familiar territory. They had rehearsed this exchange dozens of times. "So what does my mind tell you?"

Bucky's grin widened. "The censored version or the uncensored one?"

"Let's go with the censored one." He'd fallen for it enough times that he knew that Bucky had a knack of doing the exact opposite of what Steve asked of him in this game.

Bucky's face fell when he realised what Steve was doing. "Aw, come on, that's boring."

A smile tugged at the corners of Steve's mouth. "You let me choose. I chose." He propped himself up on his elbow and closed his eyes, face turned toward Bucky. "Now read my mind, oh great Buchanan."

Bucky heaved a sigh. "Mission, blah, save the world, blah, blah, protocol, blah, blah, blah. Agent Carter, ooooh lala. Forgive me father for I have sinned in my thoughts. Blah blah blah."

Steve bit back on the grin that threatened to spread and cracked open one eye to squint at Bucky. "Blah, blah?"

"Shush." Bucky thinned his lips and shook his head, which make him look just like his eldest sister for a split second. Of course, he had to ruin what could have been intimidating by brushing his hair from his forehead in an overly dramatic move. "I can't concentrate if you interrupt me."

Steve closed his eye again and smoothed his features. "Far be it from me to threaten the concentration of the great Buchanan."

"Quiet!" Bucky pressed a finger against Steve's lips, and, oh, damn, maybe that had been a bad idea. His finger was cold and made Steve want to breathe on it to warm it. A very bad idea.

Lucky for him, Bucky moved the finger to his temple, making the beginnings of a beard bristle. "I wonder how I look like after not shaving for five days."

Steve snorted. "I'm not as vain as you." Shaving had been the last thing on his mind, though maybe he should think about it. He couldn't be around Peggy looking like a caveman. And if Bucky mentioned it, then maybe it bothered him as well. Steve resisted the urge to run his hand cross his jaw.

A hard rap of knuckles against his temple. "What did I say about staying quiet?"

Steve thinned his lips and mimed a zipping gesture.

"Now, let me delve deeper," Bucky's voice dropped a notch. "Let me see those dark secrets …"

Steve swallowed. His throat, dry, clicked. He knew that logically, Bucky couldn't read his mind, but the proximity and the cadence of Bucky's voice made his stomach tighten. If he really could, Steve would be in trouble now.

"Ah, yeah, I've got it now. Just there, wedged between the bull-headedness and the protectiveness, there …" Bucky raised his voice like a circus director announcing the next big sensation. "There it is: I wonder what Agent Carter is doing out there, and is she freezing her pretty butt off?"

Steve released the breath he'd been holding, opened his eyes and pulled a face at Bucky. "And you're the one who asked me if you'd taught me anything."

Bucky grinned. "That's your thought, not mine."

"Is it?"

"She's been out there a while. Can't take that long to take a leak."

That's why she was out there? He'd thought she was checking the perimeter..

Bucky caught his lapse and grinned. "Yup, Stevie, even the pretty girls gotta go when nature calls."

There was no stopping the blush that crept up his cheeks. "Shut up."

Miraculously, Bucky seemed to take pity on him. He got up and walked over creaky floorboards toward the door. "Hey," he said, voice raised. "Other people need to use the facilities, too."

"I thought you were soldiers." Peggy's voice was full of laughter. "Too shy too pee in company?"

Bucky turned to Steve with his eyebrows raised and Steve felt like cheering to Peggy. There weren't many people who could render Bucky speechless. "The company we're used to is usually more male."

Steve really, really couldn't imagine Peggy joining the Commandos in a game of 'whose arc is the highest'.

"Besides," Bucky straightened his shoulders, "somebody needs to watch over Steve – "

"Hey!" Steve protested. Had Bucky forgotten that even at ninety pounds, Steve had needed no one to watch over him? "No one needs to watch over –"

Bucky continued, ignoring Steve, "— to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"I'm never doing anything –"

Bucky's glare quelled the rest of his sentence. "Try and finish that sentence. Try it and I will personally dump you out in the snow in your underwear and lock this door."

_I'd like to see you try_ Steve thought. He was smart enough not to say that out loud, both because he knew the argument that would entail and because if he were honest with himself, he didn't feel one hundred percent yet. 

The door creaked open and Peggy ducked back in, frost tingeing her cheeks an angry pink and snow all over her jacket and hair. Bucky closed the door behind her quickly, which still didn't stop a blast of frigid air from entering the room. Steve shivered.

"We could take turns reciting every single stupid thing he's done since he came to Europe," Peggy said. She rubbed her hands together, then over her arms, chasing away the cold. "He'd be out there quite some time." She bumped her shoulder against Bucky's. "While we ate all the supplies."

They were standing shoulder against shoulder now, a united front, and it would have been impressive if … "This would work better if you weren't in your skivvies."

Bucky turned toward Peggy and said in a conversational tone, "It's the lack of gratitude that gets to me." He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Every time."

Peggy managed to keep a straight face for a couple of seconds before she burst into laughter. "You're ridiculous, both of you."

As if on cue, her stomach gurgled, loud, and Steve's own decided that it was time for a duet.

She twitched a grin. "How about breakfast?"

"Breakfast would be great."

"Then make it." She pulled off her boots and sat in front of the stove, holding her feet out toward it. "If you're fit enough to banter, you're fit enough to cook."

*******

**Steve**

"Eat."

Steve caught a piece of cheese Bucky tossed his way. "Your mother would be ashamed of you, James Barnes. Throwing food around."

Bucky shrugged, unconcerned, even though the idea of Winifred Barnes catching anyone disrespecting food struck a holy terror in Steve. 

"She's not here, is she?" Bucky continued cutting the loaf of cheese into cubes and tossed another piece at Steve. "So, eat."

This time, just to one-up Bucky, Steve caught it with his mouth.

"I thought you had left the circus behind," Peggy chimed in. She tossed something in his direction too. Steve caught it with his hand an inspected it. An oily, hard sausage, neatly cut into a cube as well. It tasted better than it looked. He hoped to god that she wouldn't tell Bucky any more than he already knew about the USO show, so he kept his head down and chewed dutifully.

"No comeback?" Bucky asked, throwing another piece of cheese with sniper's precision.

"Clearly, he hasn't eaten enough yet." A piece of salami flew his way.

"Not enough energy to be his usual mouthy self." A piece of cheese.

"Yes, seems that he needs much more – "

"Guys, stop it," Steve finally protested, a small mountain of salami and cheese piled on his palm. He was getting far too full for this continued bombardment of food. Besides, he hadn't seen either Peggy or Bucky eat much of anything yet.

Bucky nodded toward Steve's palm. "Once you've finished that."

"And the bread." Peggy waved half a loaf of bread at him.

"And the little schnapps."

Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky. "Don't think I don't know what's in that bottle. I can smell the damn cod liver oil even from the closed bottle."

At least Bucky had the good grace to wince. "Fine. Bread, cheese, salami at least." He ordered. "And honey."

"I've had enough." Steve piled the cheese and sausage on a slice of bread in front of him.

"Quit doing that," Peggy said, sharp. "You need more calories."

"So do you." Steve squared his jaw. He had no intention of eating all of their supplies while Peggy and Bucky went hungry.

"About a quarter of what you need," Peggy noted. "And we already had it."

"You two are the worst mother hens, do you know that?"

"Shut up and eat, Rogers."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Can't make me."

Bucky took a deep breath in a way Steve didn't like. He turned away from the fire and crawled over to Steve to look him in the eyes up close. "Don't," Bucky said, voice low and dangerous, "think I won't stuff it in your mouth while Carter holds you down."

Steve swallowed, his throat suddenly drier than the desert. He tried in vain to put a stop to his thoughts … and failed. Images of Peggy, bare skin glowing in the light of the fireplace, holding him down against the rough wooden floor, her soft, full breasts pressed against his chest, and Bucky, naked and glorious, groaning as Steve –

"Your ears are turning red," Peggy noted. Her voice wasn't as steady as it had been before. "Surely, you're not thinking what I think you are, are you?" Steve only chanced one glance up, but underneath the teasing words, he saw Peggy's pupils blown out and her own cheeks pinking ever so slightly. He looked away and thanked his lucky stars for the sleeping bag covering his legs and lap. Now his cheeks really were burning. Damn it. _Damn it._

"I meant Peggy would hold you down because you'd never hurt her. I know you'd fight me to the tooth. I've spoon fed you before, remember?"

Steve nodded and hoped Bucky would leave it at that, but no, Bucky looked between Peggy and him, and blurted, "Holy shit." He sat back on his haunches and shook his head. "And you think I have a dirty mind. For shame, both of you." He grinned. "For shame." 

Peggy straightened and lifted her chin. "I have no idea what you are insinuating, Sergeant." A little grin tugged at her lips.

"Bucky… " Steve pleaded.

"Eat your food or it’s the cod liver oil," Bucky declared. 

Steve started chewing another piece of the hard sausage, grateful it was already cut up, and glared at Bucky.

"Good boy," Peggy cooed.


	5. V. Shelter hut, Central Apennines, March 1944

**V.**

**Shelter hut, Central Apennines, March 1944**

*******

**Bucky**

"No," Bucky said.

Carter stood to him to block the door, her shoulder so close to his that Bucky could feel the heat from her body going through the material of his shirt.

"What do you mean, no?" Steve demanded.

"It's a simple enough word," Carter told him. "Are you certain you don't understand its meaning?"

Bucky threw her a quick glance, biting back on a snort. "You've met him, right?"

Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You're both being unreasonable. We're needed out there." Meaning that _he_ was needed out there.

Up went Carter's eyebrows. "While you may want to, you will not single-handedly stop the war."

Bucky winced inwardly at the raw hurt flashing over Steve's face before Steve managed to school his face into an annoyed expression.

"We didn't drag your heavy ass all the way up here just to have you take off before you're ready and keel over on the way," Bucky said a little more gently. 

"I don't need this long to recover these days."

Wasn't he only too aware of that. "Speaking of which, this all would have been easier if you weren't big as an ox now." Bucky gestured toward Carter. "Before, she could have carried you alone."

Carter gave him a warning look. "I could carry you, too."

Steve raised his chin. Bucky was only too familiar with that defiant look. "Before, I wouldn't have been out in the snow in the first place. Or out here in Europe."

"Just what I meant." Bucky clenched his teeth against the rest of the words that threatened to spill out. They weren't alone. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in front of Carter.

"Are we really going to have this conversation now?"

Carter's warmth left his shoulder. She stepped to the side, away from the door and toward the stove. "Is it one you ever had?"

He looked away from Steve and toward Carter opening the stove's door and putting a new log on the fire; intensely grateful that she was trying to give them at least some semblance of privacy.

It wasn't. They'd never talked about it. Bucky didn't know how, and Steve never offered: it sat between them like a wedge. And yet, the idea of dredging out all the raw hurt he'd felt after seeing what Steve had let them do to him was almost worse: He didn't know what else would spill out if he ever let the Genie out of that bottle.

Wood clanged against the side of the stove and Carter hissed, then stuck her finger in her mouth. "If you're not going to talk about it, at least help me get more wood on this fire."

Bucky reached for his jacket, glad for the distraction.

"Wait, we were about to leave," Steve protested.

"No, _you_ were about to leave," Carter corrected him. " _We_ gave compelling arguments why we should stay. And we won. We're staying."

Biting back on a smirk, Bucky left Carter to deal with Steve. The door shut on them bickering. Outside, the air was bitter cold, creeping underneath his jacket and nipping at his cheeks. All he could hear from outside were the difference in the sounds of their voices – Steve's baritone low and trying to be reasonable but failing, from the way it was rising steadily, and Carter's voice higher, but calm, occasionally edging into exasperated bursts.

Taking a few deep breaths to clear his mind, Bucky busied himself with digging free more wood. It was cold enough, at least, that the snow wouldn't get the wood damp. Few things would have been more unpleasant than finding that their firewood was unwilling to burn. He was glad that Carter was handling the stove –before the Commandos, he'd pull rank and delegate any fire-making to someone else. No one needed to know that he did that so he wouldn't have to admit that he had no luck at starting fires. Now, Dernier usually was the one to reach for the matches first – little firecracker that he was.

He hoped that the boys didn't get in trouble down at the camp. They'd have figured out by the morning what he was gone. If they were smart, they wouldn't come looking for them. Of course, when had any of them been smart when it was about one of their own? Tactical decisions, sure, but this was both tactical and personal. Dum-Dum wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut. Rheet wouldn't take kindly to insubordination or disrespect. Bucky just hoped that they wouldn't find all of them in the stockade when they got back.

One more night. If they had enough firewood, they'd be okay. He hoped they had enough food to get Steve back on his feet, and enough so that he and Carter wouldn't go completely hungry. It didn't matter much to Bucky, he was used to giving up portions for Steve and his seemingly never-ending hunger these days, but Carter was sharp-eyed. She'd notice if he gave up too much. She'd ask questions. Questions Bucky didn't feel like answering. Of course, Steve would have to accept the food. That could be a problem. If he already couldn't out-stubborn them on the issue of leaving, he'd try somewhere else.

He checked the sky as he piled more wood on the tarp to drag inside. The clouds gathered low, hiding the tops of the mountains and creeping into the valley. The wind was picking up again, blowing up the snow and sending it in between the logs. He got out one more armful of wood and covered the rest as well as he could. No need to get it wet for the next people in need of help. Bad enough he couldn't replace what they'd burned. He closed the shutters in front of the window to provide an extra layer of insulation.

Shouldering open the door, he found Steve lighting the oil lamp and Carter busy with inventorying their supplies. The pile was a lot smaller than he'd thought, which was far from comforting. He dumped the wood by the stove. "Clouds are hanging low outside, and the wind's come back." As if to verify his statement, a gust buffeted the hut, making the it groan. Tendrils of cold air came through the cracks between the planks.

"Another storm?" Steve asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes. It _was_ winter. What did Steve expect?

"It wouldn't surprise me," Carter answered. "Up here, the weather does change quickly, but the forecast I asked the officer in charge about mentioned the chances of several storms rolling in."

That was something Bucky hadn't even thought about when they'd started their search for Steve. Then again, it's not like he would have let a storm stop him. Besides, the weather forecasts usually weren't accurate. Never more than a day, anyway. It might stop Steve from arguing about them leaving again before the storm passed, though.

"Better sit tight and get comfortable," Bucky said. "And, hey, what about food?"

"I don't think we have enough for all of us," Steve said when he looked at the meagre pile that was sitting in front of Carter.

She looked up and raised her eyebrows. "Firstly, we have enough, secondly, I'm not hungry."

She was lying though her teeth. Bucky had been sitting next to her earlier, and he'd heard her stomach gurgle. 

"Respectfully, Peggy, that's a load of bull." Steve's ears were starting to turn red, but he held her gaze.

"Respectfully." The corners of Carter's mouth twitched.

"I'm not eating if you're not eating. Both of you."

They were going to be at this for the entire afternoon, evening and night and none of them would budge an inch. "What about a game?" Bucky ventured.

"A game?" Steve looked at him as if questioning his sanity.

"Yeah, you won't eat unless we do and we won't eat unless you do. In the end, we're all going to be hungry," Bucky explained as he warmed to the notion. "We play for food and… loser has to eat what the winner tells them to." He grinned wickedly. "Even if it's cod liver oil." He had no intention of schlepping that nasty stuff back down the mountain anyway. Like it or lump, Steve was going to have swallow it and his pride.

Carter looked intrigued. "What were you thinking about?"

Bucky shrugged, he hadn't really thought that far. "Something like a drinking game. Only with food."

"Clever," Steve grumbled. He looked a little grumpy at having been outwitted, but not actually upset. Of course, he thought he'd win. "All right."

Bucky held back the victory gesture he felt like doing.

"Drinking games," Carter repeated. She sounded a little incredulous – whether that was because of his idea or because it might work, Bucky couldn't say.

"Truth or dare?" Steve offered.

Bucky grinned. "Never have I ever?"

"They're both terrible options!" Carter protested. "Don't you know any civilised games?"

"Unless you have cards on you, you're stuck with what's on offer." Bucky's grin grew wider. "So, come on, choose. One or the other."

"There's always 'spin the bottle'," Carter offered, looking hopeful to have found a loophole in Bucky's argument.

"Canteen won't turn like a real bottle would." He crossed his arms and leaned back against his pack. "Stop stalling. Choose."

Carter pulled a face that looked like she'd bitten into a lemon. "I'm not playing truth or dare with soldiers."

Steve stretched his back and smirked up at her from his position near the fireplace. "You're a soldier yourself, Peggy."

"And that's the reason exactly. You wouldn't be able to handle all those truths. Or my dares."

"'Never have I ever' it is, then," Bucky said, before Steve could rise to the challenge. This might actually be fun – he'd get the chance to wind up both Carter and Steve and get them to eat at the same time. Steve didn't have the mean streak you needed to play the game and win. "If you have a deck in your kit, we could always play strip-poker," he teased Carter, knowing full well that she didn't.

"You're both horrible and nosy."

"Hey, 'never have I ever' is a two-way street. You'll get some fun facts on us as well."

"Who says I want any?"

"Natural curiosity says you do."

Carter huffed a theatrical sigh. "All right, fine." She sat back, more relaxed than her words suggested. Golden light from the stove's small window limned her profile. "Let's go over the rules again."

"You don't know them?"

"I think Steve doesn't."

"I absolutely do!" Which was the tone that suggested Steve had absolutely no idea but was too proud to admit it. 

"Oh?" Bucky asked, sitting down and leaning back on his arms. "Then let's start."

"Okay." Steve crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging against the long sleeved, worn soft cotton undershirt Bucky had provided from his own pack. "Food instead of drinks."

"Yup."

"Better start cutting up more of that cheese."

"You worry about starting the game."

"All right, never have I ever…"

Steve's 'I'm thinking hard' face never ceased to be amusing. Bucky knew that Steve had to bite his tongue or he'd end up with it stuck between his lips, like he did when he was in deep concentration, drawing. "Have I ever …"

"We're not getting any younger here," Bucky teased.

"I'm thinking!"

"Yes, we can see that," Carter said with a sly grin. She'd picked up on it as well. Bucky gave her a wink and she replied in kind. This really might end up being a fun way to spend the rest of the afternoon.

"Never have I ever … lost a library book."

Bucky groaned. "Really?"

He reached for the salami and began to slice it, then did the same with the rest of the cheese.

"Now who's stalling?"

Bucky kept slicing. "Don't look at me."

"I know you never returned _Treasure Island_ to Mrs. McNalley!" Steve protested.

Bucky shrugged. "Doesn't mean I _lost_ it."

"But that means you stole it!" Steve exclaimed, looking horrified. "Bucky!"

"Oh, come on, how long have you known me?" Bucky asked, feeling a little hurt Steve would even consider Bucky stealing a book. "I returned it to Miss Delgados."

"Who was Mrs. McNalley?" Carter asked.

"The dragon of the library." Bucky shuddered. "Her hair must have been grey when she was born. Or at least that bun at the back of her head was. I don't think she was physically capable of smiling. It would have broken her face."

"I didn't take you for a library person."

For some reason, that stung more than it should. "Just a stupid grunt, huh?"

Carter had the good grace to blush. "That's not what I meant."

"He got them for me when I was too sick to read for myself," Steve said. He gave Bucky an apologetic look.

Bucky hadn't expected Steve to divulge that. Despite the constant fear of losing Steve, those afternoons spent reading out loud to Steve were some of his fondest memories. Sometimes, he'd kept reading even though he knew Steve was asleep already. Before she died, Sarah Rogers would come in eventually and bring him a cup of the paint-stripping black tea she always had brewing in a large brown teapot in the kitchen. Bucky had never had it in him to tell her that he didn't like tea, much less with sugar in it. He knew the price of tea and sugar, though. He understood what it meant that she shared this with him, so he drank the tea anyway, allowing its warmth and the warmth of Sarah's strong, slim hand on his shoulder to seep into him. 

Steve's, "Hey, why is no one eating?" brought Bucky out of the memory.

"Guess you just picked the wrong thing, pal. Here, let a professional show you how it's done."

"Oh, _please_." 

Bucky couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. Carter's and Steve's voices blended nicely. "Nice, you're chorusing now."

"Shut up and play," Carter said.

Bucky threw her a lazy salute. "Yes, Ma'am." He sat down the knife and pushed the plate with the – woefully small – pile of food between the three of them. "Okay, never have I ever…" he smirked at Steve, "been shot at by a woman."

Steve gave him a look that could have curdled milk. "Jerk." He reached for a piece of cheese and chewed dutifully, though.

"Peggy, your turn."

"Right." She cleared her throat. "Never have I ever… stolen food."

Bucky pulled a face but reached for a bit of the bread Carter had torn into small pieces. Much to his surprise, so did Steve.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at Steve. "You?"

Steve busied himself biting off half of his already tiny piece of salami. "Eat your bread and never mind. I just did, okay? Or do you feel like telling me why you're eating?"

From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Carter looking back and forth between them as though watching an intriguing tennis match.

"Never mind, okay?" Bucky didn't feel like telling Steve about how many times he'd stolen food for Steve before the war, let alone since they came to Europe. He needed a distraction. "Never have I ever stolen girl's underwear."

Steve narrowed his eyes at him while blushing. "I hate you." He reached for the bread and broke off a morsel.

Carter gaped. "What?" 

"It's not what you think!"

Bucky decided to rescue him. "He switched the drying line with Donny Ullman's underwear with Caroline Wyemeyers panties – that he had to sneak into her apartment to get out of the drying line over their stove."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"Sweet revenge. They'd both been harassing a younger girl in class."

"And your evil plan was to exchange their underwear?"

"You thought he was some kind of sweet angel?"

Steve groaned. "Bucky, stop."

"Oh, no. Gotta give her the good stuff." Bucky grinned wide and turned to Carter, ignoring Steve. "Let me tell you about the time he dipped Eileen Gillespie's braid in an ink pot because she made fun of my sister's dress."

"Buck." The warning was clear, but watching Steve squirm was too much fun. Besides, Bucky was proud of him for all of these things.

"Or the time he emptied an entire garbage can full of rotten cabbage onto Joseph Gioncollo." He winked at Carter. "It had been sitting in the sun for days."

"What was that for?

"He tried to poison Charlie!"

Charlie, that scraggly street dog that liked to bark outside Steve's ma's flat until Steve came out to play with him. He'd used to growl at all the other kids.

"Enough about me, so, never have I ever…" Steve looked at Carter, a triumphant smile brightening his features, "kissed a man."

Bucky froze. Damn it. Why. Why of all things did Steve pick that one? He couldn't know. Bucky hadn't been with the Commandos yet and he'd never written to Steve – 

"That was far too easy." Carter rolled her eyes and reached for a slice of salami. 

Bucky considered lying, sitting still and not giving himself away, but eventually, another plan began to form. He reached for the bread and ostentatiously broke off a piece, very aware of two pairs of eyes widening.

"Huh," Carter said, leaning back and sounding intrigued. "I didn't see that coming." Oddly enough, she didn't sound appalled. That was something _Bucky_ hadn't seen coming. But having her not disapprove was one thing. Steve… He stuffed the bread in his mouth and didn't look up. It was dry and hard, and his parched mouth made it hard to chew and swallow. Damn, he should have lied.

"When?" Steve's voice sounded thin, unsure. He didn't sound outraged, which was what Bucky had half expected, but he sounded… sad? No, that couldn't be. Disappointed in Bucky, probably. And that, Bucky could take even less than outrage. He had to come up with a cover story.

"When I was nine." That had just been the first time. He wasn't going to tell either of them about that night after his first combat; confused and desperate for human contact. He hadn't let himself think about it since. It didn't mean anything. He'd just been delirious with relief he was still alive and sick with horror at having shot a man.

"What?" Carter sounded aghast.

"Nine?" Steve echoed. His eyes were wide.

Okay, looking at their shocked faces, he realised that they were thinking in the entirely wrong direction. Time to clear that up. "It was you, you idiot. I'm appalled that you don't remember. My heart is crushed."

Steve blinked. "Me?" 

"Steve at nine hardly counts as a man," Carter said and Bucky wanted to strangle her. He couldn't tell them about Jimmy. It had been one evening. One damn night when he forgot to hide what he knew he wanted. He knew he shouldn't have let his guard down, but back then, he'd have done anything to forget his first kill.

Luckily, it was Steve to his rescue. "He already ate, so it counts." To Bucky he said, voice lowered, "I didn't know you remembered that."

Bucky shook his head slightly. "I almost lost you that day. Of course, I remember." Remembered pressing his lips to Steve's feverish forehead, just so lucky he made it through the awful night.

They looked at one another for a few long blinks of an eye.

Eventually, Steve cleared his throat and stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth as well. "I won. That means I get to give the next prompt, right?"

Bucky forced himself to grin. "You're getting the hang of this."

"All right, here's one to get you to eat some more, Buck: Never have I ever kissed a woman."

Bucky flipped him the bird and reached for a cheese cube, relief flooding his veins. "Way too easy." Not that he'd ever been the lothario the other Commandos always seemed to think he was, but he'd enjoyed kissing girls before the war. Before Azzano. Before Zola …

He was relieved that Carter's lofty and annoyed "You need to eat as well, Steve." distracted him from the downward spiral his thoughts had begun to take. She was still holding a grudge against Steve over the incident with Private Lorraine, it seemed.

Steve blushed to the roots of his hair. 

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Carter reaching for a slice of salami and quickly popping it in her mouth. Something in her movement looked uneasy, like she was forcing herself to give up this particular information.

"Holy cow," Bucky said under his breath. He tried to check out her face without looking like the idea of two women kissing made him horny. Once upon a time, maybe, before Zola had zapped all of that out of him. But that wasn't what got to him. It was the vague possibility. Was she … could she be like him?

Looking at Steve, eyes wide and pupils dilated, told him that Steve was thinking along completely different lines. "I want to hear that story," Steve uttered, voice sounding as though his mouth and throat were dry as the desert.

Carter's gaze shuttered. "No." She pulled her legs under her, her body tense. She looked entirely too much like he had felt and Bucky felt a wave of sympathy for her wash over him. "Play another round, we still have food here."

"Aw, come on, Peg – "

"Stop being a nosy ass, Steve, " Bucky interrupted Steve's wheedling. "If the lady doesn't want to talk about it, she shouldn't have to."

In the silence that followed his statement, the wind buffeted against the walls, making the snow sound like thousands of small needles driving into the wood.

"Good Lord," Carter said after a few seconds had passed. "I hadn't expected chivalry from you."

The 'of all people' was heavily implied and that hurt. "What's that supposed to mean?" Bucky snapped. He almost regretted coming to her rescue.

Much to his surprise, a light flush coloured Carter's cheeks when he looked at her. "I didn't mean it that way."

"And you shouldn't," Steve interjected, now sounding irritated in the way that usually came before a fully-grown tirade. "Bucky's the most chivalrous guy you could ever imagine. He opens the door for every lady he sees, even if it's the cleaning lady. He never once made a move on the girls he went dancing with."

Bucky ducked his head, feeling a flush of pleased embarrassment warming his cheeks. "Steve, stop."

"It's something Peggy should hear. I won't have anyone think you're just a stupid grunt, James Buchanan Barnes." He gave Bucky a quick wink. "If necessary, I will shout from the rooftops how glad anyone could be to call you a friend. He can change baby diapers and tie his sister's laces and do advanced calculus and dance and fight a bully and shoot a target 200 yards off "

Bucky ducked his head further. Steve was being ridiculous, but at the same time, it was good to hear him say it. 

"Steve," Carter interrupted him. "Stop before you sprain something." She smiled. "I already figured out that there's more to Sergeant Barnes than meets the eye." Bucky gave her a curious look from under his lashes and found that she was looking straight at him, something indecipherable in her gaze. What did she mean? 

Steve exhaled on a huff, ears tinging red again. "I just… don't think I could be friends with anyone who doesn't respect Bucky."

"Do you respect me enough to get out and get the firewood next trip?" Bucky asked to break up the uncomfortable tension in the room. "Because I don't look forward to freezing my ass off again."

"You could see the chaplain about that."

Oh, that little shit. Had he really just told him to stop complaining? "I carried your heavy ass up here. Show some gratitude."

Steve grinned wide and winked. "Just pulling your leg. I'll go. Have some more food in the meantime. Both of you."

"Thank you, Steve," Carter said, sounding surprisingly docile. It made Bucky suspicious. Peggy Carter was many things, he was sure, but never docile.

As soon as Steve had closed the door behind him, she opened a small leather pouch and dumped half of the cheese and sausage into it. She shrugged at Bucky's surprised look and thrust the bag at him. "You'll find that stuffed into the side pocket of your backpack tomorrow morning."

He grinned and took the pouch from her.

"Barnes?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. I appreciate what you did earlier."

Bucky shrugged. "Didn't do anything."

"You know what I mean."

He did, but bit back on the, "Gotta look out for your kind, right?" Maybe some other time. Maybe never.

*******

**Peggy**

Peggy snapped awake, unclear what had woken her. She tried to shake the initial disorientation and checked her surroundings: quiet, dark, just the red eye of the stove glimmering close. Smell of wood, straw, smoke, damp wool, her own unwashed hair, sweat. Two other people close by – Steve and Barnes. Nothing. Maybe a piece of wood had cracked in the stove.

Her pleasant dream of tea and shortbread in her mother's house dissolved into wishful thinking. She fought against a sigh. At least she was warm – plastered as she was against Steve's back. He'd insisted on being between her and Barnes when they'd laid down to sleep. Peggy had thought about chiding him for the assumption of being the barrier between the lady and the rake, but she'd kept it to herself. She'd been too tired for an argument, and she didn't think he was doing it consciously, anyway. She wouldn't have minded the spot between both men, however, at least she wouldn't have woken up with a cold back and bum.

She still couldn't figure out what had woken her until she heard the quiet, barely there sound of Barnes whimpering under his breath, and Steve murmuring soothing, nonsensical things in nothing more than a low rumble that transferred from his back to her skin.

Careful, she pushed up on her elbow – a lot farther than she originally planned, Steve's shoulders were just ridiculous – to check what was wrong. Outside, the storm had blown out. Moonlight fell in thin shafts through the cracks in the hut. Steve was spooned around Barnes, one hand alternating between smoothing sweaty hair from his forehead and stroking from his shoulder to his elbow in a repetitive, soothing motion. Barnes still whimpered and twitched in his sleep, his brows knitted and his breath coming in short, suppressed bursts. A nightmare. Peggy had those herself; she knew all about making herself stay quiet so that no one would notice. Poor bastard.

Steve's gentleness surprised her, though she didn't know what she'd been expecting. She hadn't been expecting the love she saw reflected on his face in the moonlight. Whether it was platonic or more, the emotion itself was undeniably there. They were beautiful like this, she realised with a pang of regret, despite Barnes's nightmare.

Steve stiffened a little when he realised Peggy was awake, but he didn't let go of Barnes.

"He's had them since I got him off that lab table," Steve whispered without turning his head from where it was resting atop Barnes's. "Never had them when we were kids." He shushed Barnes quietly when another brief seizure shuddered through his body. "It… seems to help when I'm close."

"You don't have to explain," Peggy said, resting her hand flat against his back, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Most men who have seen as much combat as Barnes has have nightmares." She drew a deep breath, as she considered if she wanted to divulge the next bit of information. Here, in the darkness and the secrecy of the moonlight, it felt right. "I have them, too."

Steve tensed even more and tried to twist toward her without letting go of Barnes. "I'm so sorry," he said, sounding so bloody sincere her heart did a funny somersault in her chest. "If there's anything I can do to make them stop – "

"What, do you want to come and cuddle me too?" she asked. "As nice as the idea is, I think that might get people talking."

He threw her a glance over his shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with – "

"Steve." She curled her hand around his shoulder, realising that her sarcasm had had a detrimental effect. She wasn't sure he was talking about her and him, either. "I understand." And she did. 

"Don't tell him," Steve said after a small silence. "He's always so quiet, so he thinks I don't know about the nightmares. He doesn't know about this, either." He shrugged his shoulder in Barnes' direction. "I'm not sure he'd welcome it, but I need… I just need to make him a little safer, you know?"

Studying the way Steve was holding Barnes and thinking of the look in his face earlier, she realised with a belated clarity that she knew that look. Lizzie had worn it in that fateful summer of 1939. Whether or not Barnes realised or even reciprocated, Steve and Barnes were closer than mere friends. Steve needed Barnes, that had been clear the moment he went after him last November. It didn't bother her, but it did worry her, because Michael's loss had taught her a brutal lesson: there were no guarantees in war. Barnes might not survive the war.

"I know," she said, squeezing his shoulder.

Steve stopped running his hand along Barnes' arm and caught her hand in his, squeezing lightly. "Thank you."

He let go when Barnes began to stir and wake. Peggy rolled to her back, making a little room for Steve to create a distance between him and Barnes as well.

Peggy wondered if the nightmares meant Barnes should go home. Very likely that option hadn't occurred to Steve. Yes, he held on, and tried to keep Barnes safe, but he didn't think farther than that. To Steve, Barnes was a little cracked, but otherwise unbreakable. Steve couldn't believe that Barnes could be broken, because from the way he talked about Barnes, Barnes was his hero, just the way Captain America had been painted the indestructible hero for people back in the USA. 

She pitied Barnes and respected him at the same time. Remembering their conversation when Steve had still been out, she realised that Barnes stayed, despite the nightmares and the dangers, because he still saw it as his duty to guard and, if necessary, save Steve. Steve was right to idolise Barnes, but also cruelly wrong. It wasn't fair to Barnes to make him carry that burden.

There was no point telling Steve that Barnes should be taken off the front lines. Steve couldn't see how deep the damage ran and Barnes, despite knowing exactly what the war had done to him and continued to do, would fight tooth and nail to stay with Steve.

With an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger, she realised that she had no room here. If Steve had some confused feelings for Barnes, perhaps it was time she re-thought what she considered was happening. Maybe he wasn't too awkward to make a move, maybe he really didn't want to make one. That thought hurt more than it should.

_Quit that, Margaret Carter,_ she chided herself. _You don't need a man to make your life complete._

There was a difference between needing and wanting, though. She was a red-blooded woman. She wanted. And since pursuing women was even more off the table than having an eye on America's most prized soldier, it was turning out to be bloody lonely. It would have been nice to have sex that didn't end up killing her career sometime this century. This morning, it had seemed as if Steve had reacted to her. But perhaps, with Barnes around, that just couldn't be. After the war, the media that used and idolised him would make sure he would marry eventually, and even if that future Mrs. Rogers turned out to be her, his heart might never be in it. Was that what she wanted? Was that something worth killing her career for?

So maybe … maybe she needed to take a long step back and think about the level of involvement she wanted with Steve Rogers on a personal level. She liked him as a person, admired him in many ways, but there was no denying that being involved with him, even professionally, was doing terrible things to her career.

First, she'd helped him go rogue to rescue Barnes. It had turned out well and Steve was the 'hero', but Peggy remembered Phillips' dressing down after they'd returned, and the black mark that he cautioned it would leave in her papers. Actions had consequences. More so for a woman. Now, she had taken off with an enlisted man against explicit orders to save Steve. She and Barnes hadn't cared about the consequences to them when they'd left, but the more Peggy thought about their return, the more she worried she might have put the final nail in her future's coffin. She'd do it again without thinking twice, but it might be better for her if she distanced herself a little. Both emotionally and professionally. 

She tried to move farther away from Steve when he turned around and spooned around her instead, his body a long line of warmth along her back. 

Even worse, Barnes reached over Steve and found her hand, covering it with his.

Peggy closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. It was better if she didn't enjoy the ridiculous waves of warmth rolling through her.

Then again, the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

One more night before they left the mountain. She relaxed into Steve's warmth and slotted her fingers through Barnes'. She could damn well be selfish for one night. Reality would come crashing down on her soon enough.


	6. VI. London, late September 1944

**VI.**

**London, late September 1944**

**Steve**

"Sir, this is a one-woman operation," Peggy said. "Villaroel's marriage is unhappy, every bit of intel we have on him confirms that."

Colonel Phillips looked unconvinced. Good, Steve thought. 

Peggy argued: "If he wants to keep running the mine, he has to stay with his wife. It belongs to her family. All his money, his job, their house, it's controlled by her family. If she's unhappy or he cheats on her, they can cut him off. He's a lonely man in an unhappy marriage – that makes him the perfect mark. He has everything to lose."

Colonel Phillips shook his head. "I'm not sending you in there alone, Carter."

Steve agreed. He knew Peggy could pull this off, but he didn't like the idea of her being out there alone. She went out alone on too many missions anyway. He hadn't seen her in months. He wondered sometimes if there was anything Peggy couldn't do. Her fierceness and utter faith in herself got to him all over again.

"Who else do you have at hand who speaks Portuguese?" She leaned forward, her forearms set firm against the table. Her lips thinned, hiding the red of her lipstick.

Colonel Phillips looked as if he'd just bitten into a very sour apple. "You're proposing the Badger Game, Carter. Last time I checked, that required two people."

Peggy's jaw worked. A vein at her temple began to stand out. Anger practically shimmered off her. Her skin looked pale in the unfavourable sodium light. Pale but still so very touchable. Steve thought she looked amazing. God, he'd missed her.

Steve cleared his throat. "I'll go. I'll accompany Agent Carter." That way, he'd be able to help her and get a chance to be close to her again, to find out what had happened in these past months. Two birds with one stone.

"You." Colonel Phillips coughed, badly hiding a laugh. "Son, don't get me wrong – "

Steve's teeth clenched. That usually was the precursor to something he would get completely and utterly right. God, how he hated condescension. "Sir?"

"You're more of a hammer than scalpel."

"What Colonel Phillips is trying to say," Peggy interjected, shooting Colonel Phillips a look that was a lot like the one Steve's history teacher had used to quell conversation in class, "is that your face is too well known by now. Your movies have been shown all over the world and even without the cowl, you're too likely to get recognised."

That wasn't what Colonel Phillips had meant to say, and they weren't 'his movies', but still, Steve was grateful that Peggy was trying to make this more bearable.

"If I want a translator, I'll ask for one, Carter."

Peggy squared her shoulders, her hair sliding against the starched collar of her uniform. Her "Sir," was among the most insolent Steve had ever heard. He felt like clapping.

"Watch that mouth if you want this op."

"Agent Carter would never – "

Colonel Phillips raised a hand. "Don't say something we'd both know would be a lie." He lowered the hand against the table again and heaved a sigh. "Rogers, you're out."

"But sir, I – "

"This is not a discussion," Colonel Phillips said, then turned to Peggy. "You're not going alone, so pick someone, Carter, and fast, before I pick for you."

Peggy's reply came without hesitation. "Sergeant Barnes."

"Bucky?" Peggy barely knew Bucky, even after their time in the mountain. And there was no chance she could have got to know him any better – she'd refused joint missions in Germany and Poland in May and August. So why would she choose him for a mission now? And why Bucky and not him?

"Why Barnes?" Colonel Phillips frowned.

So even Colonel Phillips was suspicious. An unpleasant ball began to knot in Steve's stomach. Had something more happened while he was unconscious in the hut? More than they told him? He'd already wondered why Peggy hadn't accompanied the Commandos on any missions since March.

"He's smart, he's resourceful, as a sniper he knows how to be patient, he isn't a giant blond who can't blend in, and most of all, he knows how to listen." She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Steve."

"I listen," he said. Damn, he sounded petulant to his own ears.

Peggy just gave him one lifted brow look.

"I could go as backup," he offered.

This time, it was Colonel Phillips who shook his head. "This is strictly hush hush. If they get caught, Allied Command is going to deny knowing either of them. That'd be a bit difficult in your case."

"You can't send them on this all by themselves!"

"I let you in on this meeting out of courtesy to Carter," Colonel Phillips snapped. "Don't try my patience."

Peggy looked as if she'd smelled a rotting cadaver.

Colonel Phillips scowled at Steve. "Don't," he continued, "get it into your head that you have any say in this matter."

"Sir, no disrespect, but – "

"Stop it right there." Colonel Phillips narrowed his eyes. "Try that lip one more time and I'll throw your ass to KP for the next month. You're getting entirely too big for your britches, Rogers."

"If you already don't trust _me_ to do this," Peggy sounded weary, disappointed, and damn, how Steve hated knowing he was the reason for it, "don't you at least trust your best friend?"

"It's not a matter of trust, it's…" He trailed off, because he had no way of saying in front of Colonel Phillips that he had sworn to himself to not let Bucky out of his sight again. That he cared too much for them both to see anything happen to them. Knowing they'd be countries away, unable to step in should something happen, would be unbearable.

"Just the way it is? A woman needs someone to protect her? So it's all nice and proper?" That no longer was disappointment; Peggy sounded bitter now and somehow that was even worse.

"I'm just not good at sitting on my hands." God, that was lame and didn't even come close to what he meant to say.

Colonel Phillips walked around the conference table and reached for a folder. "Aren't you lucky that I have something to distract you." He pushed it toward Steve. "You and your team leave for Romania tomorrow morning 0600. We need you to take out flak guns so the Air Force can launch a strike on the Ploiești oil fields."

Steve had already heard of Operation Tidal Wave. It was a more than worthwhile cause, an honor to assist in such an important mission, but it would put several countries between him, Peggy and Bucky.

"Carter, you'll go to Oxford."

"Oxford, Sir?"

"Stark has requested you personally come by and pick up your mission gear."

"Stark can go and – "

"I'm sure he'd try if he could, but since even he can't, you're going. Take Barnes with you. End of discussion."

*******

**Peggy  
**

She found Steve in the map room, tracing his index finger along a river. Probably memorising its bends and curves. She was relieved to find him in here alone.

"Captain Rogers."

She draped her coat over a chair. It was her one good coat and she didn't look forward to going out in the rain and having it turn wet. It would take forever to dry in the damp shoebox of a flat she had here in London.

Steve turned toward her and fell into parade rest. "Agent Carter."

She winced at how formal he sounded. Maybe her attempts at distancing herself from him after the mountain had been more successful than she'd hoped.

She sighed, checked the hallway behind her and closing the door behind her. The heels of her boots created loud clacking noises against the concrete floor. "Stop that nonsense." With the door closed, it was marginally warmer in here than out in the drafty corridors. Just like at the base in Dover, the weight of the stone around them was oppressive and no matter how they tried, the temperatures just never reached comfortable levels. She suppressed a shiver. 

Steve looked over her shoulder at the wall, not meeting her gaze. "Steve," she admonished again and finally, he looked at her. What she saw wasn't his usual brand of stubbornness, though. That was something else.

"What is it?"

His gaze flickered to her, then to the map. "Nothing."

This was going to be harder than she thought, and she really didn't have the patience for the kind of ego-stroking she feared he needed. "I know you don't like this, but I need you to trust me."

He ran his hand through his hair, turning fully toward the map. "I'll always trust you." There it was again, that dangerous honesty that she'd come so close to falling for.

"Then what's the matter with you?"

His shoulders fell in a way that screamed dejection. It took him several deep breaths to get out the answer. "I know you... are really good at this sort of thing and Bucky's – Bucky's smart, he's… "

Oh, for God's sake. He couldn't be... "Don't tell me you're jealous?"

He whirled toward her, looking caught. "No!"

It was better to believe him than to get annoyed at him for what was obviously a lie. He had no pokerface whatsoever. "Then I'm at a loss here."

Steve expelled the air from his lungs in a whoosh. "When he went to Europe with the 107th, I was still… " He gestured to himself. "I couldn't follow him." He didn't need to say how much he had wanted that. He quirked a smile at her instead. "And you know I tried."

The corners of her mouth kicked up when she thought of the records Dr. Erskine had compiled. Four attempts at enlisting under four different names. Steve had always been so eager to do his part. He reminded her of Fin a lot. "That I do."

"The women in my building would cry when they got letters from the front. They started wearing black." 

The memory of their mother's scream when she found out about Michael made Peggy shiver. Michael. He would have approved of Steve. After all, he'd approved of both Lizzie and Fin, even when Peggy had been too much of a coward to stand by them. Or maybe he would have teased her mercilessly for her taste in men. 'An American _and_ an artist _and_ one and the same person, too. Seriously, _Margaret_.' God, she missed him.

"I was terrified that one day, I'd visit his sisters and they'd …" Steve cleared his throat. She wanted to squeeze his arm. "So when Colonel Phillips told us about the 107th …" he trailed off again, swallowing hard. She remembered that look on his face in the tent that day. That look of utter heartbreak. There, she'd seen the first seedling of what she finally realised up on the mountain – it was more than friendship that connected Steve to Barnes.

"You got him out," she offered, wanting to take him out of the dark space in his head. Steve was usually so full of hope and optimism that it jarred her to see him like this. It was exactly the thing she'd been afraid of.

"Thanks to Howard and you."

"You would have walked to the camp on your own," she reminded him. "Barefoot, if you'd had to." Just for that one man. To the press, later, it seemed that he'd gone for the rest of the 107th, but the more she remembered their time in the mountains, the more she read between the lines, the more Peggy realised that he'd only gone for Barnes. The other men were collateral luck.

He hunched forward, like a flower wilting. "Can't walk from Romania to Portugal." A lopsided smirk blossomed and slipped as soon as it had come. "Not in time, anyway."

He was confirming everything she'd assumed. Damn, how she hated being right. That kind of devotion was going to break his heart eventually. "Steve – "

"He always – " Steve stopped, twitched an apologetic smile that he'd interrupted her.

She gestured that it was fine. "Go on."

He seemed to have lost his words again. Watching him struggle for them, for what she'd figured out already, was as endearing as it was heartbreaking, but she knew he needed to get them out. "Bucky, he… " Steve ran both hands through his hair. On other people, it would have stuck up, but his hair was so soft it settled back down in an only minor dishevelled state. He was going to need a haircut soon. "He always looked out for me and I couldn't – " He shook his head, turning away from her and toward the map. "And now I can and I promised myself, I – " His swearword got lost in the sudden thump of his fist against the map that made the door rattle in its hinges. "Now _I won't be there_!"

Turned away from her, she could only see his shoulderblades moving under heavy breaths.

She took one step closer to him, wanting to reach out and touch for reassurance, but unsure of how he'd react. "Steve."

He let his head fall to his chest for a few seconds, then, shoulders squared, he turned back to her, fixing her with a look that was equal parts pleading and demanding. "Watch out for him for me."

Peggy froze under the enormity of the greatest show of trust Steve was capable of. All she could do was blink at him. He believed that she could take care of Barnes the way he would. She'd braced herself for a shouting match, but this… this was like running full force and then finding you had skidded over a ledge by accident and were in freefall. Freefall that didn't end in you hitting the ground. Steve trusted her. With something, some _one_ , he valued more than his own life. It was absurd how much that moved her. Even more absurd how much she'd come to care for this ridiculous American boy in his new god's body with his sheer bloody honor and bravery and sincerity. All her resolve threatened to crumble. God, she needed to do something, something, or she'd –

"Please?" That strand of hair he always struggled to keep behaving had slipped to his forehead again.

Maybe Steve was the future Michael had known she was seeking – one full of purpose and, if she taught him right, even the freedom to do whatever she wanted without him holding her back because of her sex.

Oh, to hell with this being a bad idea. There was no one here right now, after all. Peggy followed her instinct and just moved, stepping closer to him and brushing his fringe aside. She trailed her hand to his cheek, cupping it, finding and holding his gaze. "I solemnly swear to watch out for him."

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. His breath skittered over the inside of her wrist. "Thank you."

Peggy brushed her thumb over his cheek. "Thank you for trusting me."

"Always, Peggy." That bloody sincerity was going to be the death of her one day. He made her believe that he believed in her. With him, it wasn't just a throwaway line. He believed in her the way he believed that they would win this godforsaken war. His belief that right and good would triumph was so unadulterated and pure – she'd nearly forgotten that she'd once had the same ideals. He made her remember them and that was both glorious and painful and certainly the death of her resolve, because now she had no choice. 

She leaned up and kissed his cheek: reassurance, fondness, caring, and hell, yes, longing, all rolled into the simple, lingering connection of her lips to his cheek. Standing on her tiptoes, she lost her balance just a little and without hesitating, Steve steadied her with his hand against her waist, light but firm. She could have moved back. Should have. It would have been the wise choice, the choice she'd sworn to make. Instead, she allowed herself to become re-acquainted with the heat of his body, and learn the smoothness of his cheek and the fresh soap scent indicating a recent shave, the way he breathed faster, his thumb stroking her waist. 

It would be easy, so easy to just turn her head a little, to drift her lips to his, to finish what they'd almost started back in the mountains. But would it be welcome? Hadn't she made a decision?

"Peggy," he whispered, lips now against her cheek, quickening breath fanning her ear. She closed her eyes, felt her heart hammering against her ribcage and her body straining toward his. Had she read him wrong after all? He'd moved closer, hands curling around her waist in a way that left no room for interpretation and she felt the distinct pressure of his erection against her hip. Desire slammed through her. "Please," he said, "I need, can I – "

Steps sounded outside the door. Steve coughed and pulled back. 

Bloody _hell_.

Peggy opened her eyes, forced her gaze on the wall behind him and balled her hands into fists. What on earth had that been? Why? Why now? Why did he have to make her doubt her choices? And why the bleeding hell could that person not have walked past a few minutes later? Her last proper kiss was a small eternity ago. She wanted to shout her frustration.

A knock on the door proved his decision right, however.

"Captain Rogers?"

"Yes?" Steve replied, voice rough and a distinct flush in his cheeks. Was there still time to pretend they weren't in here, wait until the soldier outside left and then kiss Steve senseless?

"The plane for Romania will leave in half an hour. Also, Colonel Phillips told me to remind Agent Carter that Stark wants her in Oxford."

Peggy opened the door with all the force of frustration backing her up. "I'm not a carrier pigeon," she snarled at the Private in the hallway.

The young enlisted man's gaze flickered between Peggy and Steve, who was now standing behind her like a looming shadow. His heat was a teasing possibility behind her. 

"Colonel Phillips is offering you his car."

Oh, the car. She loved that car. Maybe a short trip to Oxford wouldn't be such a bad thing.

"Is my team ready?" Steve asked.

"Ready and waiting, sir. Except Sergeant Barnes. He's waiting with the Colonel's car."

Bloody buggering hell. She'd hoped Phillips hadn't forgotten his edict she needed someone with her on the mission.

Steve jerked back from her a step, all that lovely warmth abruptly gone and the soldier once more in charge. "I'll need to change into my field uniform. Agent Carter, you should go. Sergeant Barnes may drive off without you."

_Agent_ Carter? _Sergeant Barnes_? What the bloody hell? Damn Steven Grant Rogers and his mixed signals.

She stepped to the side, away from his touch and gave him a forced casual smile. "Don't forget the shield."

"Of course not."

"Take care of yourself, Steve."

"You, too.


	7. VII. Oxford, late September 1944

**VII.**

**Oxford, late September 1944**

**Peggy**

"Oh, bloody h – " With her hands full with a suitcase full of two gorgeous dresses and a sinfully luxurious cashmere coat, a hat box and her old, lopsided umbrella that was letting more of the torrential rain in than it kept out, of course she had to literally bump into someone as she rounded the corner of the Randolph Hotel. She tried to hold on to all three items, but the hat box got low priority status and clattered to the ground while she readjusted her umbrella and pushed it against the wind.

"I am so, so sorry," a female voice said. A shock of shoulder-length chestnut hair fell forward and obscured the face of the woman in a navy blue wool coat who was now bending down to retrieve the hat box.

"Oh, no, it's my fault," was Peggy's automatic response. "You don't have to – " 

"It's the least I can do." She knew that voice, as familiar as her own. The woman rose from her crouch, made to hand Peggy the box … and froze in the very same moment Peggy did.

"Pegs?"

"Oh my God." Six years. Peggy hadn't seen her in six years, one month and twenty-three days. "Lizzie."

Lizzie hadn't changed at all, except that her hair was a little longer than Peggy remembered. She remembered running her hands through it. Wondered if it was still warm and soft and still smelled of rose shampoo.

She stared, memories accosting her: Lizzie, the first day they met, Lizzie, winning the rowing championship, arms raised in triumph, Lizzie discussing astrophysics with Augustus Longthorpe, the pretentious plonker, and giving him the most impressive academic smack-down Peggy had ever witnessed. Lizzie kissing her after in a dark corner later, elated. Lizzie and Fin, kissing. Fin kissing Peggy, and Lizzie, her eyes dark, a fire burning in them, choreographing –

"Your umbrella." 

Cold raindrops hit her face and she realised that she'd let her umbrella sink to the side. 

Peggy shook herself and raised the umbrella again. "Oh, yes, how silly of me." The sad end of it all returned to her too. Lizzie, in the rain, marching off the college grounds with her head held high. She'd had no umbrella, just a brown leather suitcase that was missing one strap to close it. The books that peeked out had got wet. No one had helped her carry her bag. A persona non grata got no help. Oh, Lizzie.

"I really didn't expect to meet you here." All this time Peggy had imagined how a meeting would go and what she could say, and now all she could think of was her mother saying that a cup of tea solved everything. She hoped it would.

"Surprise." Lizzie did that unnerving thing she had always managed: She didn't smile with her mouth, but with her eyes. It used to mean that she was very amused. Did it still?

The Randolph was just behind them. Tea would there be ludicrously expensive. She had no idea if Lizzie could afford it and even her own wage didn't cover extravagancies like an exclusive hotel. None of that mattered. She was going to put it on Howard's bill. _If_ her invitation would even be welcomed.

"It's ghastly out here," Peggy said, indicating the sky. "Would you join me for cup of tea?" Barnes was off with Stark, getting fitted for a suit that didn't yell penniless Yank, since he could hardly go on a covert mission in uniform. She had some time and she needed to apologise, to explain why she hadn't stood up for Lizzie, to make something right that she bollocksed up all those years ago. "To warm up?"

Lizzie's smile reached her mouth, one side kicking up higher than the other, just like Peggy remembered. She linked her arm with Peggy's and said, "I'd love to."

***

They were given a table by the fireside after the waiter had taken one look at them and decided they needed to warm up properly.

Peggy looked around her and was relieved to see that Howard and Barnes weren't down in the bar yet. She had no doubt that eventually, they would end up here; Howard couldn't resist showing off and Barnes would hardly say no to a drink he didn't have to pay for.

The large chairs with the red-and-black upholstery were more comfortable then they looked, but her nerves kept her from settling in, even with the afternoon tea arriving. Cucumber sandwiches balanced on the lowest plate of a delicate porcelain étagère. Scones and what looked like a pound cake on the second. Something that looked like raspberry preserve was sitting in a tiny glass bowl on the upper level. And good lord, was that clotted cream in the other bowl? Her stomach began to gurgle, an uncomfortable reminder that her last meal had been this morning's gloopy porridge.

"I haven't had a proper cream tea in forever," she admitted and reached for the round-bellied white teapot. Her chair creaked. A dark coppery liquid poured into her cup, small clouds of steam accompanying the scent of an Indian blend strong enough its tannins might strip paint. Perfect.

Lizzie poured milk into her cup first, just the way Peggy remembered. They'd had so many discussions about the right order. Peggy insisted that it was tea first, milk later. Lizzie called her _my posh upper class girl_ in response and went on doing it her way. They'd kept a list of who won and who lost all those silly arguments. 

"You look like you haven't had proper anything in a while," Lizzie said. "I thought that at least the military got fed right?"

Peggy sat down the milk jug without pouring and adjusted her uniform skirt. How on earth was she going to answer that without telling Lizzie about losing her rations in the field when running from enemy fire, or infiltrating a Hydra factory with a purse full of explosives, of walking through enemy terrain to get back to camp after her transport had been killed, and picking mushrooms and berries and stealing honey from wild bees because she'd been so hungry she didn't care about the stings?

"Not that you don't look lovely." Lizzie smiled carefully and waited for Peggy to say something.

The grandfather clock next to the fireplace ticked, slow and calm.

"Just a little bony?" Peggy looked up and in Lizzie's face for the first time since they entered the bar.

Lizzie's gaze was kind. "I remember a softer-edged Peggy."

"People change." Peggy looked at the fireplace where a log had just sunk into the ash with a low plonk which threw sparks into the room.

"Believe me, I know."

They were performing a slow waltz around the gigantic elephant in the room now and Peggy thought of the war and the blitz and of young soldiers dying in the field, _Michael_ dying in the field and knew she couldn't afford to stay quiet and wait for a better time.

"Liz …" She stopped, took a sip of tea, realised that she'd forgotten to put in milk, sat the cup down with a clink and only barely managed not to pull a face. God, that was horrible. Far too strong to be having it without milk.

When she looked up again, Lizzie was reaching for the milk jug and pouring milk in her cup. "You still forget." She was smiling, eyes and mouth both.

It was too much. She couldn't wait one more moment. "I'm sorry," Peggy burst out saying. "I'm so, so sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

Lizzie's brow wrinkled. "What on earth are you on about?"

"I should have stood up for you. I was such a coward."

A warm hand curled around Peggy's wrist, making her set down the cup. "Margaret Elizabeth Carter, would you please tell me what you are talking about?"

"That day. When they sent you off. You lost everything." Peggy swallowed hard. "Because of me. Just to save me. To save my father."

"And it worked, didn't it?" That smile again, honest, with nothing but conviction behind it. "Look at you."

"But I…"

"Have you really been beating yourself up over this all those years, silly?" Lizzie shook her head. "We had a plan."

"I think it was you who made a decision," Peggy corrected gently.

"What makes you think you could have changed my mind?"

Peggy smiled against her will. Lizzie had always managed to out-stubborn even her. Still. "I should have…" She should have. Should have given those bloody anti-Semites her piece of mind. Should have kissed Lizzie right in the courtyard, to hell with convention, with bloody upper class politics.

"Stop," Lizzie's voice turned hard, serious. "I have everything I wanted."

Peggy looked up at her in surprise. "How?" The moment the word was out, she wanted to take it back, because how the hell was that any of her business? It sounded like she didn't believe Lizzie could manage without her.

Lizzie's mouth kicked up in a sly smile. "Remember Finny?"

How could she forget? Fin. Gentle artist Fin. So taken by Lizzie and her. So curious. So willing to experiment. So willing to take the fall along with Lizzie.

Peggy nodded. "Finless Finny."

"We got married."

"Blimey, Liz, you shouldn't have – "

Lizzie raised a hand, stopping her. "We're happy, silly. All three of us."

Three. That could only mean … "Congratulations." The word wanted to die in her throat. Children had been in her book before the war. Before everything had changed. 

"Oh, we don't have children. Maybe one day, but we're quite happy the way we are now."

Maybe Peggy had misheard earlier and she'd really said two.

"You heard me right." That sly smile again. "We married just before the war started. Right around the time your wedding invitation arrived." The smile wavered. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it, by the way."

Peggy huffed an unamused laugh. "You didn't miss much."

A raised eyebrow was all the question Lizzie needed. 

"I called it off."

"I heard about Michael." Lizzie's hand closed around hers, squeezing gently. "I'm so sorry." 

"Thank you." The words were an automatic response, but, damn, it never failed to hit her like a punch to the underbelly. That wound would never heal. She wondered if it would ever stop hurting so much. Peggy shook her head and blinked away the unbidden tears that stung in her eyes. "What about you and Fin?"

Lizzie kept hold of her hand and ran her thumb over the inside of Peggy's wrist. The touch was distractingly familiar, a reminder of past closeness. It woke a longing inside Peggy she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time. "We got married. At first, it was just to spite his family, and give me some security, but it... changed." The smile that flitted over Lizzie's face was gentler than Peggy remembered. "Then he went to the war. I had the farm and the estate and was completely in over my head. That's when Mikaela came."

"Mikaela?"

"A refugee." Lizzie gave Peggy a look that was somewhere between defiant and cautious. 

"Jewish?"

Lizzie nodded.

"German?'

"Danish."

Peggy nodded her understanding. Denmark only seemed neutral from the outside. It made sense that Lizzie, being Jewish herself and politically outspoken, would welcome a Jewish refugee to her house when a large part of the rest of Britain would rather see them gone.

"She was heaven sent." Lizzie huffed a breath that sounded like a sigh of relief. "Fin didn't know much about how to run a farm, he'd always been more interested in painting. And you know me. Give me a physics theorem and I'll show you all the flaws and fix it, but set me in front of a cow that moos and I'll start running." She really had once, when their picnic had been interrupted by a sweet dairy cow. Peggy had fallen on her arse laughing while Lizzie ran down the hill. Lizzie had been cross with her for half a week after that incident. "Mika grew up on a farm. She just took over, quietly but adamantly. Saved my sanity and probably half of the cows on the farm. And the sheep. Sheep horrify me."

Peggy was tempted to ask how Mikaela fit into Lizzie and Fin's marriage but bit her tongue. Lizzie had her own timing and interrupting her would just make her take even longer just out of spite.

"Finny came home the winter of '41. He lost his leg from the knee down."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Peggy said, a tendril of cold sneaking down her spine. She'd seen enough of the invalids that were being sent home and always wondered how they coped once there. It was different, somehow, than seeing wounded men in the field. Disconnecting the person from the report was easier. Closing her ears to the screams from the medical tents became a matter of staying sane. But Fin... Peggy swallowed against the nausea that wanted to rise. He'd been such an avid swimmer.

Lizzie shrugged, a gesture that seemed oddly callous to Peggy. She knew that Lizzie was empathic almost to a fault; seeing Fin come back home wounded must have been hell. "Mika helped me get him back on his feet." A very familiar grin flashed over her face. "That is, she nursed him back to health and I annoyed him enough with the artificial limb I built for him that he got on his feet to spite me. So, when spring came around, we took him swimming again."  
Lizzie and Fin had met while Lizzie had been training for her rowing competition and Fin had been foolish enough to cross her path while swimming across the river: She'd knocked him across the head with her scull, nearly drowned him. When she'd laughed at him after finding out his name was Finley and said that he'd be better off growing some instead of just having them in his name, he seemed to imprint on her. She'd introduced him to Peggy as Finny the Finless. Peggy had called him Fin. Lovely, charming, warm-hearted Fin. Who had stood beside Lizzie when Peggy hadn't, she thought guiltily.

"We first kissed in the water that day." Peggy blinked. Lizzie head leant back in the chair, her body language open and relaxed, even if her gaze held something wary. "Mika and I."

Bloody hell. Peggy forced her jaw to not drop. Three. It started to make sense now. So much started making sense now. Especially Lizzie bringing Fin into their relationship at university. Back then, she thought it had just been a curiosity, something to spice up the danger in an already dangerous relationship. They'd thrived on that danger, until…

Lizzie added, "Fin broke the ice."

It had been quite different back with them. Lizzie had been the one to initiate their encounter. She had been such a beautiful contrast to Fin's fair hair and skin. Peggy still remembered Fin's gentle artist's hands, shaking. His kisses, luscious, generous, curious. Later, his mouth on her while Lizzie… A flush warmed her cheeks and she forced her thoughts away from the memory.

"Yes, he can still do that," Lizzie said with a wink and Peggy's flush deepened. She looked around and was glad to find the room empty except for them.

"So you…" Peggy gestured, unwilling to say it out loud in case a waiter might come in.

"Yes." Lizzie leaned back in her chair. "We three."

"All of you." They made a relationship with three people work? Hundreds of questions popped up in Peggy's head.

"Yes, all three of us."

Peggy took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to politely ask the question that was burning in her.

Lizzie got ahead of her again. "I know what you want to ask next: No one bats an eye. The village people are very protective of Finny and his family. We're also not the strangest relationship his family has seen."

"But what about your work?" Her beauty had been obvious, but what really got to Peggy back then had been Lizzie's competence. Einstein and Hahn were scientists she admired, but her real interest was in what women could do and she'd not accepted that as a woman, she'd not go as far in the academic field as her male colleagues would. It was that more than anything that had made Peggy fall for Lizzie Lovelace quicker than she had ever fallen for anyone else before. Also that which had made her go so far in the other direction after she'd let Lizzie take the fall for their relationship that she'd ended up with Fred.

Lizzie shrugged. "I'm still in touch with Lise Meitner. She told me a thing or two about how to publish even when you're persona non grata."

"How?"

"Finny. He doesn't mind. I write the papers, he publishes them and gets the fame. We tell the academic circus he never goes out to public events because of his leg and they buy it."

Lizzie used to love the spotlight, showing her colleagues that she couldn't be stopped. This arrangement didn't make any sense.

"I know that frown."

Peggy looked up, caught.

"It works for us."

"How? You were meant for so much more."

At this, Lizzie laughed. "We don't need outside approval. For anything. We know our value." Before Peggy could ask the question, Lizzie added, "Who cares what the others think? They'll think it anyway, won't they? In a hundred years, we'll be dead, but the work will be there, whoever's name is on it."

Peggy leaned back and looked at Lizzie with something that felt a lot like envy twisting in her stomach: Lizzie radiated happiness and contentment. How did she manage that in such an impossible situation when Peggy was alone? Even knowing Steve did not change that, because Steve had Barnes complicating the situation, and Peggy, in her position, couldn't live the life Lizzie lived, even if she wanted – and she didn't. Not if it meant being the wedge between two people. 

She missed Lizzie and Fin with a sudden cold sharpness. Lizzie had understood her. No one really had again since then. No one but Michael.

"You set the change in motion."

Peggy brushed a lock of hair behind her ear to cover her lapse in attention. How on earth her disloyalty to Lizzie managed to set a positive change in motion, she had no idea but she didn't know how to ask.

"Stop." Some of the warmth had left Lizzie's voice. "I can see that you're feeling guilty. Don't. This is my life. They're my choices. Don't devalue them by feeling guilty over something I chose to do."

It still didn't make any sense. "I'm not sure how to do that."

"You'll figure it out." Lizzie winked at her. "In the meantime, you could tell me what you're doing in Oxford."

Peggy winced. "I really can't."

"Oooh, is Margaret Carter on an important mission to save the world? I always knew you were meant for greater things."

If only Lizzie knew how close she was to the truth. Not the world, maybe, but a good number of soldiers. "I can't say, Lizzie, I'm sorry."

Lizzie leaned back in her chair and gave her a long once-over. Curiosity was eating her alive, Peggy knew from experience that a cat had nothing on Lizzie Lovelace. Lizzie Finley now, good Lord. "Why don't you come visit us when the war is over? Then you can tell us all about your adventures and how you ended the war. Meet our Mika."

When the war is over. It felt like the war was all she knew. It had been with her for so long, shaped so much of what and who she was that it seemed difficult to imagine it ever ending. What would she do? 

"What say you?"

Peggy gave herself a little shake. "I say yes. Let's do that."

The grandfather clock behind her began to sound a full-bodied Westminster chime, indicating that it was six pm. They'd been here for two hours. She was lucky Howard hadn't shown up with Barnes and interrupted them.

"Look at the time!" Lizzie said, comparing her pocket watch with the grandfather clock. "I was supposed to pick Finny up from the doctor's half an hour ago." She got up and reached for her coat.

"I'm so sorry for keeping you," Peggy apologised.

"Oh, don't be. I can't wait to see his face when I tell him who I ran into."

Something just under Peggy's heart twisted. Bloody hell, she just wanted to go with Lizzie. See Fin. Spend more time with them. So much more time. She forced herself to smile instead and said, "Give him my regards. Mikaela as well."

Lizzie opened her arms to offer a hug and Peggy rose, sinking into Lizzie's warm embrace. "I will pencil you into my calendar, Peggy Carter," she murmured against Peggy's hair. "First Saturday after the war is over. Tea."

"And teacakes?" Peggy asked, tightening the embrace.

Lizzie chuckled. "All the bloody teacakes you can eat."


	8. Arouca, Portugal, October 1944

**VIII.**

**Arouca, Portugal, October 1944**

**Bucky**

"I have eyes on him," Peggy's voice sounded tinny through the speaker of the device Stark had given them. "He's at the table by himself. Already has a drink." A crackle of static hissed through the line – her dress moving against the hidden microphone, probably. "I'm going in."

"I can see that," Bucky said, even though he knew Carter couldn't hear him. The device hidden by the heavy-framed black glasses he wore was only a receiver, not a mic. He could hear Carter, but couldn't talk to her. Leaning back against the white-washed wall of the 16th century _Capela da Misericórdia_ behind him, feeling the rest of the day's sun still warm in the ancient limestone, he muttered, "Right across the street, remember?"

With dusk just settling, he had the benefit of hiding in the shadows should he need to while Carter schmoozed up to Villaroel. In the meantime, all he had to do was stand and watch – nothing new to a sniper, but still not the most exciting task in the world. Something was keeping him on edge, chasing away the boredom, though – if Villaroel was waiting for someone, if he already had a girl showing up, that could throw a spanner in things. His wife was out of town, so it couldn't be her, and he'd be surprised if Villaroel would cheat on her so openly in a small town like this, but you never knew. He'd have to look around and distract any lady making an approach on Villaroel if need be.

The candles on the restaurant's outside tables were being lit one by one as the shadows crept in, making the mountains that framed the town tower against the sky that was rapidly deepening from lavender to indigo. Table linens gleamed white in the illumination of gas lanterns and candlelight. More and more people strolled past, some of them sitting down for an evening meal, some just enjoying the balmy evening to go for a promenade. It was so much nicer here than it had been back in England, the last of summer's warmth infused in the late October evening.

Carter was making her approach, the clacking of her heels against the old cobblestones audible even without her transmitter. She would play the lonely woman, stood up by her date. Intel said that Villaroel couldn't resist playing knight in shining armour. Bucky would just have to wait for Carter's charms to work enough so Villaroel offered to take her out for a walk at least – and really, that was not the part he worried about – and then run in to make a scene. A jealous 'husband' bursting in, a few incriminating pictures of Villaroel with Carter as the 'wife', and the prospect of a scandal would be all it took to persuade the mine manager to run things the Allied's way.

What did concern Bucky was Villaroel getting handsy with Carter. Villaroel didn't seem the type to get violent, but no man liked being played. 

Bucky sighed to himself. When he had first seen Villaroel's picture, he'd thought of Steve before the war – there was something fragile about Raoul Eusobio Villaroel. It didn't surprise him at all that Villaroel's wife was the one wearing the trousers in their marriage. He had something sensitive about him, a slightly tousled look to his hair and a mouth set in an endearing pout. Nevertheless, looks could be deceiving. Carter could handle herself, God help the guy who tried anything under normal circumstances, but she was playing a role here, and kicking Villaroel's ass would mean breaking cover.

Bucky tipped the fedora over his forehead, leaned back against the wall and studied his newspaper. The longer he stared at it, the more he grasped, despite the paper being in Portuguese. He wasn't sure what to make of that. He'd always been good with languages, picked up Yiddish from his great-aunt, some Italian from Mrs. Pasetti on the corner, more than enough French from Dernier. In Azzano, even the hated German had become something he understood. Words that followed him into his darkest nightmares now. _Testobjekt. Widerstandsfähig. Geeignet._ (1)

Bucky swallowed against the rising nausea and concentrated on the newspaper. He couldn't remember ever hearing or reading Portuguese before he came here. It wasn't so different from Spanish, he guessed.

It was a nice language. Soft, flowing, musical. From what he could tell from the transmitter, Carter, though not a native speaker, emulated the sound well enough to fool the waiter at least. She sounded breathy and helpless; sad. Bucky stopped looking around for any women walking in the general direction of the restaurant, fascinated by Carter's acting skills. What was her story again? Oh, yes, the sister.

"Nice, Carter," Bucky murmured as he watched her explain with quiet drama how she was supposed to meet her sister here and wasn't she there already?

Villaroel was still at the table by himself. A cursory check ascertained that the only women walking in the streets were accompanied by men, so Bucky could afford to admire the game playing out ahead of him. Villaroel had taken notice of Carter by now. It would have been hard not to, any red-blooded male would have noticed a fair beauty in a slinky dress made of deep burgundy velvet. Carter had pinned her hair up for this with just one chestnut strand curling along her cheek and neck. One single stone in the shape of a teardrop rested against the skin that the plunging neckline revealed. Red, like the dress. A ruby, Bucky thought, maybe a garnet. Whatever was worth more, probably, because Stark'd had entirely too much fun providing them with just the best of the best for this mission. Bucky had watched that stone coming to rest in the valley between Carter's breasts when he'd helped her put the necklace on earlier and couldn't help admiring the assets that mother nature had gifted Margaret Carter with on top of her impressive brain and skills.

"You look like a dream in that dress, Carter," he murmured, glad that she couldn't hear him – no reason to stop the running commentary that way. "Stevie would have such a hard-on for you right now."

Unbidden, his mind teased him with pictures of Steve's fingertips tracing the outline of the red stone. Of Steve's lips brushing the soft swell of her breasts, his breath hitching, his face flushed and excited while Carter smiled like a Sphinx. Damn, _that_ was inappropriate. Bucky shifted the newspaper to the other hand and dragged his fingers underneath his tie to loosen it just a little.

"Then again, I think he always does. It's the brains more than the rack." Carter's looks definitely weren't a deal breaker, but that alone? Nothing Steve would go for. "Can't blame him. I always found a smart woman sexier than just a bland pretty one." Bucky grinned to himself: he was damn lucky she couldn't hear him, or he'd probably have her knee in his private parts already. It was true, though. Beauty alone would have made Peggy Carter a pretty shell, but getting to know her during Steve's rescue and now watching her work … that was the real revelation. If she ever took another swing at someone the way Steve had told him about, Bucky probably would have a spontaneous boner for her himself. If he'd ever got one again.

He inched the tie a little farther from his neck and forced his mind away from its previous subject. If someone had told him before, he wouldn't have believed that a tie as expensive as the one he was wearing would still make him choke. The suit wasn't half bad – he couldn't remember ever wearing something as exquisite as the hand tailored jacket and pants that Stark's personal tailor had made for him for this mission. Not even the one Ma had shelled out for when he turned eighteen had been this nice, the one which had made Clara D'Aquino tell him he cleaned up nicely.

"If you wanna run the badger game with someone as classy as Peg, you gotta look the part, kiddo," Stark had said with a grin. "Plus, seeing how he dresses, that Villaroel guy will spot a cheap suit a mile away."

Kiddo. Bucky still scoffed. Stark was barely five years older than him.

At the restaurant, Carter was in full flustered damsel in distress mode. She was looking down, fumbling in her purse, while walking in the direction the waiter had pointed her toward.

Bucky smiled, while shaking his head. "If I didn't know you're focused on your mark, I'd buy your spiel completely. Are you a natural actress or was that part of the British intelligence training?"

Carter seemed oblivious to Villaroel or the empty chair across from him until she tripped into it and spilled half the contents of her purse onto the table. With a shocked gasp, she froze, clutched a single white handkerchief first to her chest – but not against the microphone, Bucky noted – then pressed it against her mouth while tittering apologies.

While her red and gold perfume bottle still rolled across the table, the microphone transmitted Carter's perfect blend of ditzy and seductive Portuguese. Villaroel hid a small grimace – odd, Bucky thought, unless he really was waiting for someone – and stopped the bottle from crashing to the floor. As he helped her gather up her powder and lipstick and god knew what other things were usually hidden in women's purses, Carter told Villaroel about how she was supposed to have dinner with her sister, but since she wasn't there, said sister must have abandoned her to go off with a boyfriend, so she was all by herself…

Damn, she was smooth. Bucky had been in situations like that, back in Brooklyn, he knew an invitation when it slapped him in the face and he knew when to jump at an offer. Even since Azzano, though he'd lost all interest, he'd been on the receiving end of advances just like Carter's more than once.

Which was why he could see in Villaroel's body language that the man wasn't going to bite. Bucky had been in his shoes too now; he knew all too well how difficult it was to stay charming and decline the invitation, no matter how flattering it appeared, without infuriating the lady in question.

Bucky still couldn't see any other women approaching the restaurant, so Villaroel looking around as if he had already spotted someone didn't make sense. Unless his wife had instructed people to watch Villaroel while she was out of town.

Behind Carter's back, the waiter led another man to a single table and even from where he was standing, Bucky could see how Villaroel's attention focused completely on the new arrival – young, handsome, dark-haired. New arrival was tall, the suit hanging loose around his frame, making it likely that his family was affected by the country-wide food shortages for the ordinary people. He had his hair slicked back from his face and thick eyebrows and a pencil moustache that looked ridiculous and new on his face. It reminded Bucky of that time he'd tried growing one just to annoy Dernier and how uncomfortable it had been. At least, New Arrival's moustache was so neatly shaped that Stark would admire it. And probably cast him for a Zorro movie should he be in the film business.

It was as if Carter had ceased to exist for Villaroel.

Through the earpiece, Bucky heard Villaroel apologize to Carter and introduce New Arrival as Senhor Silveira, the town's teacher. He regretted that they could not spend more time together, but he had to talk to Senhor Silveira about the children of the new mine workers and would she mind …?

Carter tittered, still completely in character, apologized profusely and retreated, explaining to the waiter as she left that she wouldn't be needing the table anymore as her sister wasn't coming. Dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose with dramatic gestures, she left the restaurant. Bucky smirked when he heard her mutter, "Bloody hell," under her breath. Even from where Bucky stood, he imagined he could hear her gnashing her teeth in frustration. A few deep breaths later, Carter murmured for the microphone, "Keep watching him. I'll circle around and change my look, then we'll have to come up with a better idea. Meet me by the fountain."

Over the rim of his newspaper, Bucky watched Villaroel completely change from the slightly aloof man who had talked to Carter to someone warm, engaging and charming. He leaned over the table to Silveira, bought him drinks, smiled, kept eye contact, and even brushed his hand over the other man's hand.

It didn't take him long to understand why Carter struck out with Villaroel.

*******

**Peggy**

Peggy didn’t exactly love using her looks to get where she wanted to go with men. But she’d noticed early on that most men didn’t appreciate a woman who spoke her mind or took care of herself. So when needs must, she made good use of her appearance. And it seemed only fair that those men who wouldn’t see her as anything else than a desirable body would get tripped up by their own limited view. So with the act she'd put on for this mission, she'd been sure it would be easy to lure Villaroel in.

As she channelled her frustration through the soles of her shoes, she reviewed what had gone wrong. How on earth she was going to fix this? She wasn't going to give Phillips or anyone the satisfaction of not completing this mission. Maybe if they waited until that teacher, Silveira, left, she might try her luck again. Or Barnes could make her a scene, and Villaroel could swoop in and save her. There were few men who could resist playing the knight in shining armour, after all.

Their hotel wasn't far away from the café. She dashed up into her room to grab the soft, black cashmere coat Howard had gifted her with in Oxford. Say what you wanted about the man, he had taste – at least in women's clothing. She picked up her hat in passing, nodding toward her mirror image as she left the room. Yes, that changed her profile enough so Villaroel wouldn't make her out at first or second glance.

*******

Barnes was still surveilling Villaroel from his spot near the fountain. He'd picked it with a sniper's eye for a sight line that didn't reveal him to the target.

"Anything new?" She pretended to look at the newspaper he was pretending to read.

"They're dining. Talking. Talking a lot."

There was something in Barnes' tone that made her give him a quizzical look.

"It's a very intense talk. You know, for a mine owner and a teacher discussing school matters."

Over her shoulder, Peggy watched Villaroel pour more wine for Silveira and brush his hand along Silveira's in the process. Silveira didn't twitch away, he smiled instead, the sort of warm smile that she remembered Uncle Charles giving Uncle Gilbert. Well, bollocks.

"Wait, do you think that they – " she gestured, aiming it toward the newspaper. She hadn't seen that coming. Neither had Intel, the incompetent twits.

"At least Villaroel does," Barnes agreed. He didn't sound too bothered by it.

"Silveira doesn't look too appalled at the attention." Even outside of her family, she'd seen this at her father's College back in Cambridge: young men making doe-eyes at one another when they thought no one was watching. She'd always been so tempted to tell them it was okay, they were safe inside her father's college walls or gardens. What a farce that had turned out to be.

"I knew it couldn't have been your acting," Barnes said. "That was top notch. The look, too."

It sounded like he meant it, there was none of the condescending tone she usually got from her male colleagues. "Why, thank you." She sat down on the edge of the fountain, running her hand over the surface of the water. Cool, almost frigid. It must be coming from the mountains. "So, what now?"

His hand settled on her arm, fingers stroking along it in a featherlight touch. He really was good at keeping this act up. "We might know in a couple of minutes." Barnes' newspaper rustled as he folded it, one-handed, and she looked up, glancing toward the pantomime between Villaroel and Silveira.

Silveira was leaning back in his chair, his face suddenly dismissive. He'd removed his hand from the table. Villaroel, looking crestfallen, stared at his own hand, still on the table. He masked any more emotion by reaching for his wine glass, which he downed in one long gulp. A sweeping gesture toward Silveira, indicating the way out of the restaurant. Silveira, slinking out, did not look back once. Villaroel gazed after him, the longing on his face painfully clear.

"So," Barnes said, dragging out the syllable. "I feel for the guy, but what would you say he needs now?"

"If he were me, a straight whiskey and a punching bag," Peggy muttered.

At the outdoor table, Villaroel paid his bill and was about to leave. Peggy looked up at Barnes, saw the likeness between him and Silveira and a crazy plan began to form in her mind.

Villaroel started in their direction. "He's headed here." If she wanted her plan to work, it was necessary that Villaroel not recognise Barnes later. She tried to look away, find a way to be inconspicuous somehow, but short of starting a fight and creating a scene that would draw more attention to them than divert it, she came up blank. Of course, there always was one other option, but she hated having to resort to –

Villaroel was still slowly strolling their way, an air of tearless tragedy in his gait. Just being heartbroken didn't mean he was stupid or blind, though, and if he recognised Barnes later, their mission would be over and Hydra would get all that damn tungsten for their weapons production.

Peggy pressed her lips together, thinking quickly. She pulled Barnes down to sit next to her on the fountain's edge, took her hat off and let her hair fall forward so it was covering the side of her face, then sat down on his lap, bending forward. "Kiss me," she ordered.

Barnes' eyes widened a fraction and he blurted, "What?" She'd surprised him. That gave way to amusement though in a blink and a hint of laughter curled at the corner of his mouth and creased the corners of his eyes.

"Don't argue." She caught his gaze and willed him to comply. Her hand slipped up his arm and came to rest against his neck, fingers sliding along the freshly cut hair at his nape.

Barnes smirked as he dipped and leaned closer. He moved the fedora to the side of his head and shielded their faces with it. Up close, his eyes were bloody gorgeous. "If you think I'm going to argue being ordered to kiss a pretty — "

Oh, no, she wouldn't let him finish that sentence. "Do shut up," she said. His lips pressed against hers, soft, warm, and it felt like he was chuckling against her mouth. He swept his arms around her, unabashed, one hand high at the back of her waist under her coat, fingertips just brushing against the swell of her breast, the other up into her hair, his fingertips cool against her scalp. Damn, this was nice, despite the situation. She was treading dangerous territory here. Even as light as he kept it, he was an excellent kisser, playful and focused. This was problematic on two counts – not only hadn't she been with anyone since she joined the SSR, that near-kiss with Steve also still sat in her belly like a ball of frustration. Unprofessional as it was, she was enjoying this kiss now, enjoying the feeling of his hand cradling her side, fingertips of his other hand pressing against her scalp in the gentlest massaging motion, his chest against hers, both their breathing growing faster…

She had to make it look real if they wanted to fool Villaroel, though, right? Besides, Peggy hated the idea that Barnes might think she wasn't willing to _really_ sell it. So she threw herself into it, keeping the kiss close-mouthed, yes, but nowhere near as fake as she knew he'd expected. Eliciting a small, surprised noise at the back of his throat and feeling his hand clutch her tighter was a dark rush of power. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open and fight the urge to deepen their kiss.

She put a stop to it when she heard footsteps fade and moved so she was now leaning her cheek against his – still in a close embrace but enough she could see Villaroel's back. His shoulders drooped, his entire gait had that of a half-drowned dog slinking away after a scolding. She would have felt for him, if his predicament didn't offer the perfect way to alter their plan.

"Barnes," she whispered, still staying in the embrace in case Villaroel should turn back. "I have an idea."

Over breath that was flowing a lot faster than before their kiss, skittering along her skin, he chuckled. "Back to last names, Carter?"

She tensed. Had it been a bad idea, offering first names in the mountains?

"Don't worry, I'm just teasing. Official business, official titles, Agent." He removed his hand from her waist and the other from her hair – only to pull at it painfully.

"Ow!" Oh, dignified, Carter, real dignified.

He made a shushing sound, the exhalation brushing her ear gently enough she had to suppress a shiver of awareness. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Hold still, hold still, it's the damn cufflink."

She bit back on a snort of laughter while he – strand by strand, not yanking once – extricated his cufflink from her hair. He was muttering curses under his breath the entire time. It was a good thing Villaroel dawdling along, or she would have yanked it free herself.

Barnes pushed back when he was free, giving her an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. Guess I'm not used to the pitfalls of these fancy clothes."

"It seems ludicrous to insist on titles now that you have so expertly coiffed my hair." She grinned. "Why is hairdressing not on your resume?"

He ducked his head and – was that a blush? "No one asked my sisters about it?"

She reached for his arm and linked it with hers. That was something she'd have to ask about when their mission was over. "He's about to turn into the side street there," she said, smiling the most dazzling smile in her repertoire at Barnes to keep up appearances.

"Let's go then, before he disappears."

They started along, arm in arm, a little faster than strictly necessary, but she made sure to give Barnes looks that would, to an outsider, explain why they were in a hurry.

As soon as they had eyes on Villaroel again, Peggy took a deep breath. "I'm sure you're seeing the same thing I'm seeing: this could be an even better opportunity to blackmail him." She had to go about it goal-oriented, because what she planned wasn't something she could order Barnes to do, not against his will. He was going to have to agree with it. She couldn't – wouldn't – force him into it.

Next to her, Barnes tensed, then relaxed again. "Then let's just hope I'm his type, huh?"

Her heel caught on a cobblestone and she had to take two smaller steps to catch herself. "Pardon?" 

"Neither Steve nor I are naïve; we grew up in Brooklyn. You're suggesting that I play the rebound for him now, aren't you?" Barnes looked up toward where a woman was opening a window and leaning outside to glance at the street below. The last remnant of golden sunlight limed his profile and outlined the fedora. It almost concealed the blush that was climbing up his cheeks. Almost. "At least that's what I was thinking as soon as Silveira dumped him."

Her mind still reeling from how none of the words she had prepared to sell her plan to him were necessary, Peggy had to concentrate on not tripping again. Maybe what she'd thought she'd seen in the mountains, that spark of connection, the split-second of knowing you're among your kind, was correct after all. 

She'd never worked with someone both as mission-oriented as her and as willing to do things her way. Even Steve, despite saying that he respected her, was frustratingly bull-headed. It wasn't that he thought she was wrong because she was a woman, more that he tended to think _he_ was always right. Barnes was less certain and much more willing to listen. She knew that, it was the reason she'd picked him for this mission, and yet it still amazed her how quickly he'd come to the same conclusion she had. "You were?"

"Logical choice." Barnes shrugged. "He hasn't seen me yet, or at least, not looked closer. Your little distraction," a smirk in her direction, "by the fountain made sure of that." The smirk faded and he inclined his head toward Villaroel again. "And Silveira was the tall dark and handsome type, right?" Another smile, this one rakish and self-assured, but somehow, she thought, rehearsed and with a hint of self-deprecation underneath. "I fit the bill, don't I? Perfect guy for Villaroel to help him forget his school teacher."

Something about the way he was talking about it, as if he were planning nothing more than an afternoon picnic in the park, set Peggy's teeth on edge. In front of them, Villaroel had halted his steps in front of what looked like a pub. Peggy stopped walking. "Barnes." She pulled him against the greying limestone wall of the house they had stopped at and was met with raised eyebrows.

"Another distraction?"

She disguised the swat to his back by pulling him into a hug. "Are you sure about this?"

He returned the embrace – and, damn, that was a good hug, one you wanted to stay in and let it console you – and murmured against her hair. "I'm not saying I like it. It's not like he chose to feel the way he feels." There was an undercurrent to his words that sounded familiar and a tension to his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

"I agree. I've known women who preferred other women," Peggy told him matter-of-factly, "and I really can't see how it harms anyone." That was as much as she was willing to confide. She couldn't be sure yet she hadn't read him wrong and she didn't know him well enough to freely offer ammunition that could be used to execute her career. "That's not the point here, though."

"No, we're just using it against him." He sounded so much like Steve she wondered if some miracle had exchanged them.

Just the way she would have with Steve, she tried pointing out the flaw in his logic first. "We would have used a possible affair with me against him, too. It's his adultery we're targeting, not his proclivities."

"Adultery isn't usually something he could go to jail or even get killed for if it got out."

Peggy was all too aware that he had a distinct point, but they didn't have time for moral dilemmas now. "If you don't – "

He tightened the hug, stopping her from pulling away. This close, she caught the scent of warm wool and warm skin underneath the pleasantly spicy aftershave Howard had sent for him. "No, no, it's fine. It's espionage gold, right?" He sounded resigned, almost bitter now.

She slipped her hand to the bottom of his shoulderblade, giving a light rub. "I don't want you doing something you're not comfortable with."

"It wouldn't be fair to expect you to fake it with someone and then refuse to do it myself."

Blimey. If she'd expected anything, it hadn't been that. And yet, being tolerant was one thing. She ran her hand over his back, easing her next sentence. "I usually fake it with men, not with women." If he was ready to read between the lines, he would.

Even in their embrace, he shrugged. "I saw plenty like him back in the neighborhood. I can sell it. Don't worry about me."

She bit back on a sound.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. "I can feel your surprise."

She pressed her face against the side of his neck, deepening the embrace while making certain that Villaroel still was where she'd last seen him. She wasn't concerned about Barnes selling it. "In which case, it's even more important to ask if you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Is that a question you ever get asked?"

She sucked in a surprised breath, catching another lungful of his scent – that aftershave again, pomade from his hair, the merest hint of clean sweat and the laundry starch from his shirt. The urge to kiss him for even asking that question was close to overwhelming. Instead, she pushed back and smiled at him. "James Barnes, you amaze me."

He tipped his hat a fraction. "Glad to be of service, ma'am."

*******

Barnes had left the fedora with her, opened his first shirt button and loosened the tie, and ran his hands through his hair to dishevel it a little. It made him look as if he'd been out for a few hours already. He slipped into his role with ease, but– Peggy hesitated to call it enthusiasm, because he had made it very clear that he felt badly for Villaroel. While such empathy concerned her, she also saw the dedication Barnes brought to the mission. Peggy had a feeling that if he'd had belladonna eyedrops to make Villaroel react even better to him, he would have used them and, damn, if that wasn't impressing the hell out of her.

Not that he needed cosmetics, because even from several feet away, Villaroel noticed Barnes the minute he walked inside. Howard's tailor had done an excellent job and Barnes, who was a very handsome man to begin with, now stood out in the best way possible.

She had changed clothes again, slipped Barnes her transmitter and taken the receiver and the camera in exchange, and positioned herself near the exit of the Fado bar Villaroel had entered after his failed rendezvous with Silveira. Fado fit Villaroel's mood.

Barnes stopped by the bar, just two chairs away from Villaroel. He ordered wine and sipped, practically radiating loneliness. The receiver picked up his humming to the melancholy song of the singer, while his long fingers drummed along to the rhythm of the guitar player. He had his eyes closed, and even without knowing his thoughts, Peggy could see the music getting to him. He was much more responsive to music than Steve appeared to be on their few missions together.

Usually, by the fires if they weren't observing noise discipline, it was Dernier, Morita and Barnes singing. Steve would stand watch and smile, but he never nodded along or tapped his foot. Never joined in. Peggy could never tell why that was – maybe because Steve had been half deaf for so long or maybe he just wasn't as interested in music as he was in visual art. Barnes, though… Barnes had an ear for music, and a gentle tenor voice. It didn't surprise her that he seemed enthralled by the singer's powerful mezzo soprano.

The song came to an end and Barnes opened his eyes, draining the rest of his wine. He eyed his empty wine glass as though contemplating whether or not to have another, then, perfectly casual, glanced toward the stage where his gaze had to fall on Villaroel. Smooth. From a distance, she really couldn't tell the difference between a normal patron and Barnes' act.

Villaroel's glass was empty by now as well, and, making a show of taking in the man's hunched shoulders and the way he was staring at said empty glass, Barnes gestured for the bartender to top up Villaroel's drink. He slipped into the empty chair next to Villaroel.

"Rough day?" Barnes' Portuguese was highly accented, but passable. It surprised Peggy. She hadn't thought of him as a polyglot before. They hadn't even discussed the matter of which language to use before he got to work. Barnes must have believed she knew he spoke enough Portuguese to get by.

Villaroel drifted back to reality slowly, lifting his gaze from the freshly filled glass to Barnes, who gave him a melancholy half-smile.

"Sorry to intrude. You seemed a little down."

Villaroel made a choked sound. His lower lip wobbled dangerously.

Barnes placed a hand on the bar, palm down, his face sympathetic and his voice even gentler than before. "I know you don't know me, but sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger." He took a sip of his own wine and added, "Even if that stranger has an awful accent and hopes that if you take up his offer, we can switch to French. Or English."

That garnered a small smile in return from Villaroel. "You are clearly not Portuguese." He switched to English without hesitating.

"Guilty as charged."

"American?"

"I clearly need to work on my accent."

Villaroel chuckled. "What brings you here? Arouca isn't normally a place for American tourists to travel to." Especially in the midst of a war, he didn't say, but it was implicit.

They hadn't talked about a cover for him, so Peggy was hoping that Barnes would come up with a convincing story. "Not a tourist per se."

"What are you then, per se?" Villaroel sat up a little straighter, leaning toward Barnes.

Barnes seemed to shrink in on himself; he ran a hand over his face. "Hiding."

Villaroel's interest was definitely piqued. "From whom?"

"I'm not sure we know one another well enough for that story."

"Then how about we get to know one another better? Because I'm curious now." Villaroel extended his right hand. Something in his posture had changed. "I'm Raoul."

Barnes ducked his head. From her spot at the bar, she couldn't make out everything, but he seemed to be smiling a smile that bordered on abashed. Was he biting his lower lip too? "Don't overdo it," Peggy murmured to herself.

"What?" Villaroel asked, inclining his head to catch Barnes' gaze. "You don't have a name?"

Barnes looked up again, and Peggy was sure that if she were closer, she'd see high colour blooming on his cheeks. "I'm not used to people taking an interest in me, I guess." He gave himself a little shake, as if remembering his manners and took Villaroel's offered hand. "I'm James."

Smart. Using his real first name would make sure he'd actually answer if called by it.

From here on, the change in Villaroel's body language became visible to the naked eye; he straightened his back and shoulders, brushed his hand through his hair and generally seemed to turn toward Barnes like a flower to the sun.

"Clearly, people are stupid. It is a pleasure to meet you, James."

"Likewise, Raoul."

They spent the next few minutes correcting Barnes' pronunciation of Villaroel's first name, resulting in a lot of laughter. Barnes was downright coy, the male version of a blushing girl thriving under the attention of a first suitor.

"Nice," she commented to herself.

Villaroel finished his wine and ordered an expensive bottle for both him and 'James'.

"It is easier to get to know one another over a good Port."

When Barnes still held back on his story, they ended up talking about the music. Barnes lit up at that, showing an enthusiastic liking for the melancholy Fado filling the bar.

Watching Villaroel watch Barnes, Peggy could see that Barnes' looks and the receptiveness to the music were doing all the right things to Villaroel. She couldn't even blame him, because she saw exactly what he saw: a swoop of dark hair falling into Barnes' eyes, fluttering eyelashes, the cleft in his chin, the sweet curve of his smile, broad shoulders and muscles, and the really good suit that telegraphed that he wasn't a thug who would mug someone, rather a man out of his usual place. Barnes was gorgeous and a perfect combination of aware of that, yet still tentative.

"Perfect honey pot," she murmured to herself. "I'd be jealous of your skills if I weren't relieved it's not me in that role for once."

Villaroel relaxed more and more by the minute. After the second glass of Port with Barnes, probably the third or fourth that night, he was also tipsy enough that he didn't notice the small slips on Barnes' part that Peggy picked up on. Barnes acted a little tipsy and flirty himself, but she knew he was far from inebriated. Like all the Howling Commandos, Barnes could hold his liquor. She'd seen them drink unholy amounts of alcohol and still march and fight and – in Barnes case – even shoot straight. It was obscene. Sometimes she wondered if Steve's serum was rubbing off on them.

She was grateful that Phillips had agreed to not taking Steve along on this mission – he didn't have had Barnes' ability to blend in and he couldn't follow anyone's lead. Steve would have objected to Peggy's role and she doubted Barnes would have volunteered for his so easily if any other man had been with them.

Peggy sighed as she listened to Villaroel coaxing more and more of 'James'' story out of him – on the run from his family and the military, searching for an under the radar job. Barnes had a knack for this.

He was selling it, yet the flirtatious back and forth began to bore her. If she kept listening enough to know Barnes wasn't in trouble, she'd have some freedom to move. Peggy walked up to the bar on the far side of Barnes and Villaroel, ordering a glass of wine and some water. She had no intention of drinking much of the wine, needed her head clear, but she needed the cover, or the other patrons would get suspicious. God, her feet were killing her. Howard had chosen bloody fantastic clothes for her, but the shoes were a nightmare. Two blisters she could feel already, and a third one was forming. If they opened and ruined her one pair of silk stockings, she was going to have Howard send her a year's supply new ones just out of spite.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, Barnes laughed, seeming delighted. Peggy glanced over to the bar and saw him shaking his head and wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his left eye. Villaroel gave him a long once over while Barnes wasn't looking, clearly pleased that his joke had the intended effect.

Peggy gave herself a little shake and fought down the slight squirming feeling in the pit of her stomach. Steve wouldn't be happy with this at all. When he'd told her to watch out for Barnes, he hadn't been considering this outcome, but she knew he wouldn't approve. She was watching over Barnes, no doubt, and so she wouldn't have to lie about that. But the fact that Barnes was likely just as interested in men as he was in women? She hated the idea of lying to Steve. Yet Barnes deserved her discretion as much as Steve deserved her loyalty. It wasn't so much that she couldn't keep anything from Steve. It felt unfair to know he clearly harboured feelings for Barnes and thought that they'd never be reciprocated, when in reality, his chances were… But, no. That wasn't her secret to tell. So, better to tell herself she wasn't lying. Just … shining a light on a strategically valuable part of the story while leaving the rest in the shadows. Just as she'd done with Lizzie.

Not that she owed Steve a report on this mission, though she knew he'd ask about Barnes. But what Barnes was willing to do here… she would take this to her grave. This detail of the mission was one Steve never needed to learn about.

Villaroel was lighting Barnes' cigarette with a caress to his fingers. Barnes didn't twitch away. Smiled a shy and pleased smile instead, ducking his head again. God bloody damn, he was good. Available, but not cheap. Interested, but somehow surprised that Villaroel was taking an interest in him. 

On a purely professional note, Peggy was relieved things were proceeding swiftly. If Barnes was successful, their blackmail would divert Portuguese tungsten from Hydra and probably push the Salazar government into allying more closely with Britain. _If_ all went well. 

Her stomach growled and she contemplated getting some food to go with her drink. It shouldn't have been necessary. By now, she should have been dining with Villaroel – the way Barnes was. Villaroel was suggesting bread and cheese to go with the port – how many glasses had that been now, five? Six? Villaroel had ordered an entire bottle, so it was hard to keep track– and was telling Barnes, very up front, about the town, the mine, his arranged and unhappy marriage. Barnes played his role well, listening with empathy and very few questions. After the second bottle of port arrived, Villaroel rested his hand permanently over Barnes' and Barnes didn't twitch it away. Instead, Barnes, that devil, began to rub his thumb over the back of Villaroel's hand.

Peggy decided to tough it out. She didn't want to order food and have to abandon it when Barnes led the lamb to slaughter. Which looked to be soon.

Villaroel was slightly slurring his speech by now. She had no idea how much longer Barnes was going to drag this out, so she tuned their conversation out for the time being and began to go over the plan to get the roll of film with the incriminating pictures developed. They needed proper blackmail material and not just the threat of it if they wanted to get to Villaroel and his supply of tungsten. She reached for her compact and pretended to powder her nose so she could better check on Barnes. One look into the mirror dissipated any doubt she'd had about getting those pictures.

"He's an idiot," Barnes was saying. Something in his voice made her tune back into their conversation.

"Is he?" Villaroel asked, and, Christ, watching his face, both pleased and so hopeful, was downright painful.

"Yeah." Barnes straightened a little, slipped a hand into his suit pocket, placed it back on the table, palm down, and slid something over to Villaroel. "Clearly."

Villaroel set his hand over Barnes', just briefly, but Barnes moved, drawing Villaroel's hand to the side of the table and beneath it, discreet in a way Peggy hadn't expected. From her vantage point, she could see that both men had their fingers tangled now. It was something no one else would see. She once again thought that the military was using Barnes' talents entirely in the wrong way. With his ability to blend in and sell a role, he would have made an excellent spy.

Villaroel was motioning for the patron to pay and, only minutes later – Villaroel must know the owner, none of the other guests had been treated with such courtesy and speed – he and Barnes were rising from their chairs.

Peggy ducked her head and pretended to be very interested in her drink and the music, at the singer who was nearly crying her latest song, but she needn't have worried. Barnes led Villaroel out the bar along a path that made sure Villaroel wouldn't spot her.

Barnes looked back at the bar once, as if to pay his respects to the singer. In the infinitesimal moment in which his gaze met Peggy's, she saw a flicker of apprehension darken his face. It nearly made her get up and end this charade. If he wasn't comfortable with this, she couldn't, wouldn't, ask of him to go through with what was about to come. No matter how harmless he kept their encounter.

It didn't matter that more was expected of trained undercover operatives. Barnes wasn't one, though he was doing this as a favour to her and the mission. 

She was about to get up when she caught the minute shake of his head. "I've got this," his look said.

He held the door open for Villaroel.

Villaroel gave him a smile that brightened the darkness in front of the exit.

The queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach had to be the wine. Barnes was going to be fine.

___________________________________

Translation:  
(1) Test object. Resilient. Suitable.


	9. IX. Arouca, Portugal, October 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end

**IX.**

**Arouca, Portugal, October 1944**

**Bucky**

Their shoes crunched over the gravel path, the sound mingling with the chirping of cicadas and the rustling of the wind in the trees. Moonlight gilded the tips of the hedges, silvery blue and cool.

"Você é linda," Raoul said, quiet and earnest.

"Beautiful?" Bucky asked. "Me?" The garden they had to walk through to make it to the hotel was filled with the heavy scents of flowers lush in the last burst of bloom before fall. It gave him a chance to turn away and hide the flush that was rising in his cheeks. What the hell was he doing here? He couldn't… "These flowers are beautiful," he said just to say something. "I'm just a man."

"You are beautiful to me," Raoul said, picking one of the flowers – white, gleaming in the moonlight – and sticking it in the breast pocket of Bucky's suit. Raoul kept his hand in place. Its heat burned through the layers of wool and cotton and warmed a place in him that Bucky had thought frozen forever.

"Estadia comigo." Raoul took a step closer, whispering, a hopeful tone in his voice, "For tonight. For the week. For as long as you want." This wasn't a chat up line. Bucky had heard enough of those while on leave, hell, he'd used them on girls he wasn't even interested in just to get the others off his back. Neither Raoul's words nor his actions were practised. 

A squirming unease began to twist in Bucky's stomach along with sorrow for this man who was so achingly lonely that he'd take his chance at happiness even with a stranger. "You barely know me."

"I know my heart." And, damn, that should have been corny, but it wasn't. "I know you are different."

Different. Bucky fought down a bitter snort and tried to hide it by running his fingertips over the back of Raoul's hand. Raoul had no idea just how different Bucky was. Good God, he'd have to switch off both his brain and his conscience if he wanted to go through with this. For the greater good. That might be enough of a reason for Steve, or for Carter, but hurting this man in front of him with his fucked up arranged marriage to hide what he really wanted, who was a poet more than a business man, this man with the hopeful eyes and with his gentle voice and warm hands and soft looking lips that Bucky could imagine on his… The greater good was inadequate, too far away. 

Doing it for Carter had been enough of a reason before he'd got to know Raoul. But not wanting her mission to fail wasn't enough now. 

Get Steve home sooner. That was the one goal he could imagine using Raoul as collateral damage for. Cut off one of Hydra's heads, maybe cut off several, stop monsters like Schmidt or Zola from creating more horrors to throw in Steve's direction.

The squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified, then settled. He couldn't back out now. He had to do this. He trailed his fingertips along Raoul's arm to his neck and his face.

"I can't stay," he said. "I can't promise that." A little truth to sooth his conscience over lying to Raoul. "I can't promise you anything."

"Just for tonight, then. Let us not hide for once."

Bucky stifled the truth that began to climb up his throat by bending forward and kissing Raoul. 

Raoul kissed back, his mouth sweet as Bucky had imagined, and warm, a warmth that spread all through Bucky, that made him shudder and press closer, wanting more, forgetting the mission for a brief moment.

They walked on toward the hotel after the kiss. Bucky didn't look back. He knew Carter was there, somewhere in the shadows, following.

*******

Raoul's hands were soft. Bucky thought that they'd never held a gun, never shovelled a trench, were never used to strangle a man. Raoul was safe and kind, a moment of brightness in this fucked up war. Bucky shook himself and concentrated on those soft, soft hands unbuttoning his vest, his shirt. Raoul was murmuring low words of appreciation as he slipped off Bucky's shirt, kissing along his clavicle as if Bucky were precious. It was far easier to respond than he'd worried it would be. He let his eyes slip closed and shivered at the touch of lips against his skin, offered his neck up for more gentle kisses and low words blending into his skin and seeping into his veins. He sighed, ran his hands from Raoul's shoulders to his neck and caressing his hair.

The transmitter was in his suit pocket. Bucky had to hope it would work well enough for Carter to guess when to burst into the hotel room, since they hadn't discussed a signal for her. Turning the plan around had all been on the fly since Silveira showed up earlier.

Raoul smiled at him, both bright as a sunrise and secretive, as though he'd just found something precious that no one else knew about. It was hard to look at, so Bucky kissed him again, drank in a happiness that he hadn't known since before the war started.

Raoul glided his hands down Bucky's sides, squeezing once. "Deixe-me vê-lo." (1)

"You are seeing me," Bucky answered, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"I want to see more of you," Raoul said, not moving his hands, as though waiting for permission, and that alone tore down the last of Bucky's defences. Raoul was waiting for him to give him permission to continue, so unlike Steve who just barged ahead and did what he thought was best. Steve who would never want this, never want him like this, who deserved someone better than Bucky anyway.

Bucky nodded, helpless in the face of the gentle consideration Raoul was showing him.

Sliding his hands under Bucky's undershirt, Raoul pulled it off. His gaze swept down, then up again, fingertips following the path of his eyes, caressing gentle and light but firm enough it didn't tickle. 

"Tão amável," (2) Raoul murmured, low and awed. He rested his hands back on Bucky's ribs. "Though you cannot have been eating right." He brushed his fingers along ribs Bucky knew were prominent. "Someone should look after you."

Bucky leaned into Raoul's touch, but at the same time, he couldn't hear this now, that he was lovely, that he needed someone to care for him, not unless he wanted to fall apart. Because that was Steve's job, right? Caring for him? The way Bucky cared for Steve? And Steve did, in his own way, but lately, Bucky thought that Steve no longer saw _him_. That hurt, hurt worse and made him feel more alone than Steve looking at Peggy Carter as if she'd hung the moon. He needed to matter to someone, though, and Raoul was offering just that. Raoul seemed so intent on him, as if Bucky was the most important person in the world in this moment and Bucky just couldn't – 

"Don't," he said, placing a finger against Raoul's lips. "Don't speak."

Raoul kissed the pad of Bucky's index finger and smiled at him, patient and understanding. God, it was good, that attention went right to his head and made him all but lightheaded. He pulled his hand back and replaced his finger with his lips, sliding his arms around Raoul, pulling him close so their chests touched. His hands encountered smooth, starched cotton and he pushed Raoul back to remove his shirt as well. His heart was beating faster, breath coming quicker, arousal coming in like the tide, washing away his doubts. He touched his lips to Raoul's mouth again. Raoul's lips were soft with no lipstick wax and Bucky liked that, liked the way it made the kiss more immediate, more real. He pressed his hands flat to Raoul's back and stroked them down; all of Raoul was smooth and soft and clean. Here, in this room, they were so far away from the ugliness of the war, the hell of Azzano, even the cold desperation of Brooklyn in winter, and Bucky found himself wanting that escape. Raoul could chase all that cold and ugliness away, let it be replaced by Raoul's gentle nature.

Raoul touched him reverently, like Bucky was precious and Bucky lost track of anything outside the slow surge of want rising through him, of anything except Raoul. He needed this, this touch that was all for him for once. Bucky hadn't been with anyone since Azzano, and for the first time since then, his body lit up like a Christmas tree at the attention. The heady mixture of Raoul's warmth, his scent, and the port they'd had earlier was intoxicating. Bucky's skin felt alive and oh, God, his dick responded to Raoul's touches and kisses and all he wanted was to lose himself in this sensation. Stay and not move away, take Raoul to bed and let them both forget the world outside, taking time to be gentle and unhurried, giving them both what they wanted. And he wanted. God, he _craved_.

It didn't matter why he came here, or what he was supposed to be doing, he pushed away thoughts of the mission, of Carter, of Steve, of his doubts and fears and insecurities, and just allowed himself to feel, to be selfish for once. He let Raoul guide him, undress him all the way to his underpants, lay him out on the bed with the sheets shoved to the foot and caress him, listening as Raoul murmured how handsome Bucky was, how perfect, how responsive and good.

The door flew open with a bang and a flash turned the dark room bright as daylight. He froze, heart beating out of his chest while Raoul scrambled back. _Flash._ Again, again and again, like the muzzle flash from a gun.

Bucky rolled to the floor, for cover, and crouched out of reflex, groping for a gun he didn't have. He looked at Raoul. He wanted to cover his face and weep. What had he done? What had he been _doing_? God, if he'd had a gun, he might have shot Carter.

His whole body still tingled and he couldn't understand. Nothing, there had been _nothing_ , not since Azzano, until this, here. He hadn't even – not even with his _hand_ – not even the kiss Carter had given him for cover earlier had done anything for him, yet now, now –

Jesus Christ.

Bucky wanted to blame Zola. Wanted to think this was something that had happened because of what was done to him. Not reacting to the way Steve looked now had been a kind of relief, one that made up for not feeling much of anything. At least he hadn't had to feel guilty for lusting after his best friend on top of everything else. But this wasn't because of Zola.

"Mr. Villaroel." Carter's voice was all business, a horrible calm to it. He wanted to tune it out and pretend that none of this had happened. "I think we have some business to discuss. Your wife would not appreciate seeing proof of your proclivities in these pictures."

No reply came and Bucky opened his eyes despite not wanting to meet Raoul's eyes. Raoul was hastily pulling on his clothes in a desperate attempt to cover himself. His soft skin and lithe body disappeared under pants, shirt and jacket, a horrible reverse of the way Bucky had undressed him earlier. He'd forgotten his undershirt. It lay, abandoned at the foot of the bed.

"You're the woman from earlier," Raoul accused. "Why would you do this? I have done nothing to you."

Carter made a lofty tsk sound. "You sell the tungsten from your wife's family's mine to German interests." Her jaw tightened. "No longer. They might accept an affair, a mistress, but another man? Even the church might agree to an annulment when a husband is not a husband to his wife. And of course, there are the authorities. Such practices contravene the law, after all. Would you enjoy prison, Senhor?" Raoul sank to the chair in front of dresser and dropped his head into his hands. The nape of his neck looked vulnerable. Bucky wanted to reach out and smooth out his rumpled collar, rest his hand on Raoul's neck and console him. It wasn't fair. This wasn't _right_.

"What do you want?" Raoul whispered as he lifted his face.

"Not much." Bucky hated the smug tone of Carter's voice. "I think you will be quite agreeable to the following terms."

Carter had the bit between her teeth. She gave Raoul the terms that would keep her from destroying his life. Bucky stayed quiet, trying to put his own reactions away. Raoul – _Villaroel_ , Bucky made himself think – would stop the sale of tungsten to the Germans and cut any ties with them. Instead, he would sell to the British at a sharp discount or copies of the pictures she'd just taken would end up in his wife's and her family's hands. In which case Raoul's life would be destroyed.

Bucky crawled back onto the bed and slumped there with his head hung down.

"And James?" Raoul whispered.

Bucky shook his head. He felt like he could drown in his shame right then, yet he couldn't look away from Raoul.

Carter let out a sharp, unkind laugh. "Don't worry about 'James'," she advised Raoul.

Humiliation and terror dominated Raoul's expression, but there was a moment of pure betrayal too, when he looked at Bucky. Raoul knew now that he'd been fooled, toyed with, made into just another pawn in the chess match of the war, to be used and discarded. He'd been the victim of the cruelest game. And as if all of that wasn't bad enough … Bucky hadn't expected he'd _like_ Raoul. That he'd feel more than sorry for him – Bucky had dangled the hope of a real connection in front of Raoul then snatched it away brutally. 

Bucky ran a hand over his face, wishing he could wipe away the image of Raoul's expression, Raoul's liquid dark eyes, the betrayal in them. His hand still smelled of Raoul's pomade. Bucky hated himself.

He pulled the sheets up over his legs and his lap, balling the bleached white fabric up in his fists. He couldn't get over how much Raoul's kisses and hands, his skin and the low sound of the whispered Portuguese against his ear had affected him. He couldn't look at Raoul or Carter any longer, couldn't listen to Raoul's quiet acquiescence to Carter's blackmail. He wanted to get dressed as well, but his clothes were on the dresser behind Raoul. Damn it. God damn it.

He shivered as Raoul fled the hotel room, the door clicking closed behind him. It couldn't lock, barely latched: he'd fixed it that way himself so he could get inside and break up a clench between Carter and Raoul. What a laugh, things had certainly turned out differently... He hadn't thought it would be him needing someone to come to his rescue. But had he really needed rescuing?

Bucky wasn't sure if he'd wanted to be rescued from Raoul. Maybe Raoul was a cheater, but he'd been... kind and touched Bucky like he was special, like what he wanted mattered, and it had felt good for the first time in so long. He'd felt – and still felt – alive again.

"You did well," Carter said. Her voice was quiet, as if she sensed his inner turmoil.

Bucky snorted a bitter laugh, his gaze caught on Raoul's tie, lost on the floor.

"Are you all right?"

He bent forward and dropped his head into his hands.

"Barnes — " She halted. The click of metal against wood sounded – she must have set the camera down. "Bucky."

There was something gentle in the way she said his name. Gentler than he deserved right now. Gentler than he could handle. He shook his head.

"People…" He swallowed around the lump in his throat, forcing the words out, forcing his head up again while his hands hung limp between his knees. He kept his eyes closed. "People shouldn't do that to other people."

The bed dipped when she sat down next to him. "What do you mean?"

He knew she knew exactly what he meant but answered anyway. "Manipulation. Using them as if they don't have feelings, as if they're just – " he swallowed again, " – things that don't matter."

The touch of her hand against his – gentle, soft – contradicted her next words. "At any other time, I would agree, but it's the war. We don't have a choice. Collateral damage is something we have to accept."

"Collateral damage." _Austauschbar . Genug andere, wenn der es nicht schafft ._ He shook his head forcefully to drive Zola's voice out. _Você é linda . Estadia comigo ._ Raoul. That was worse. Worse to be the user than the used. "Fuck." (3) (4) (5) (6)

Carter's grip on his hand grew firmer, she squeezed his hand between both of hers. Her palms were warm and dry. "Thank you, seriously." Her voice sounded lower now, even gentler than before. "Thank you for saving this mission. For the war effort and for me, personally. Thank you. I couldn't have done this without you."

Bucky gave a snort. He saved it by whoring himself out. Saved it by getting it up for a stranger. That he got it up for a man wasn't new, he'd always been aware that it wasn't just ladies who floated his boat. But Raoul was a mark, a stranger he'd never see again. Raoul shouldn't have made him feel anything. Zola had taken that from him, not even Steve in his new Greek God's body, pressed against him intimately in that hut up in the mountains had made him so much as go to half-mast. He'd thought this would be safe, because he was already ruined, his body no longer interested in sex. But Raoul's kindness had woken something, even in this fucked up mission, and if he could feel something for Raoul, then …

"Bucky." She ran her thumb over his knuckles. "Bucky."

His ma's good upbringing got the better of him and he started to lift his head, to look at her and to say that if they could ask her to do it, it was only fair to him… When he suddenly, in mid-movement, found himself brushing his nose against hers. He froze, unable to move. To his surprise, Carter went still as well. Her hands, still holding his, tightened. Her breath fanned his cheek and neck and he shivered, his body responding with rekindled interest. She was looking at him and he knew in that instance that she _saw_ him. So why didn't she move away? And if she wasn't moving away, did that mean that she was interested in him despite what she saw? And if he responded to her now after Raoul, did that mean that he could still want women as well as men, that Zola hadn't zapped his libido out of him? 

Did he have a chance –

He moved, no longer thinking. Moved his hands into her hair, pulling her closer still. Kissed her, hot and urgent, with no pretence. Bucky expected her to slap him, but instead, Carter clutched his hands so hard he felt his bones shift, opened her mouth to him and groaned, low and guttural when their tongues met. She didn't stop him; she _responded_ by licking into his mouth with the single-minded precision of a fellow sniper seeking their target. Letting go of his hands and moving her own to his back, she sucked on his tongue until he couldn't breathe, stripping moans from him, only allowing them to break apart and gulp in air before their mouths met again. Bucky drowned in her scent, warm perfume and the night in her hair and, fuck, fuck, this was good, her hair spilling over his naked arms and her nails against his back, primal and raw and so, so right. He pulled her into his lap, her legs winding around his hips, dress pooling over his thighs. He rocked up, his erection rubbing against her panties – 

She pulled back.

Reality crashed over him like ice-water.

*******

**Peggy**

"God, I'm sorry," he mumbled, pushing her away and scrambling away from the bed. "I shouldn't… I don't …"

Peggy flopped back against the bed for a few heavy breaths to compose herself. Her mind was racing, her heart hammering against her chest, and her skin sang out with the need to pull him back in. Blimey, she was _wet_. What on earth had just happened? Get yourself together, Carter. "I know."

"You really don't." He ran his hands through his hair again, staring out the window. "Raoul …"

"I never should have asked this of you." It was too much. She saw this now. 

"It wasn't your fault I got a god damn boner for the guy." His voice was brittle.

Peggy pushed up and sat on the edge of the bed. The light from the lantern in front of the hotel glanced off Barnes' bare shoulders and highlighted his profile, his mussed hair and the kiss-swollen lips – no, stop, don't think about those right now – , turning him golden on one side and plunging him into semi-darkness on the other. 

She wiped away the lipstick smears, creating even red contours again. Her hands were shaking.

Bloody hell. She copied Barnes' earlier gesture and ran both hands through her hair, hoping that if Barnes was watching her, it would look like composure, not frustration and confusion.

"Sorry. That was inappropriate." He'd pulled his undershirt over his head and now looked like any other soldier.

Yes, bloody right it was. What she'd been doing was the height of inappropriateness. If her brain hadn't come up for air, she would have fucked him right there and then, to hell with consequences, and to hell with Steve. She still tasted him on her lips and felt the phantom touch of his hands against her waist and in her hair and doubted that he would have stopped her.

She rose in what she hoped was a graceful motion, smoothed down her skirt and walked to the door. "Nothing happened as far as I'm concerned. Get some sleep. You did well today." Wasn't it a brilliant idea to be congratulating him on whoring himself out? She could be such a clot sometimes.

She had just reached for the door handle when a quietly uttered word reached her ears.

"Peggy." She froze. He hadn't used her first name since the mountains, just like she had only used his again here, in this room.

"What?" Her heart thumped against her chest. Why was he stopping her? Did he…

"Can you …" An explosive exhalation. "Stay?"

She curled her hand around the door handle and turned to look at him over her shoulder. "Pardon?" 

"I don't want…" He inhaled. Exhaled. "Nothing inappropriate." He looked to the side, away from her. Blushed. "I'm just not…" Another deep, heavy inhalation. "Not used to sleeping alone."

That, she believed. None of the soldiers she worked with had been alone at all since the war started, they lived barracks, slept in tents and huddled together in foxholes, so the breathing, snoring and just general presence of other human beings close by must create a tapestry of sound that was calming.

Peggy didn't need to ask him to keep this to himself. This was her one way of paying back what she'd asked of him tonight. She knew in her heart that he'd never use it against her. Not, a cold and calculating part of her said, when she still had the film of him and Villaroel in her possession. Despite it being a mission, if those pictures reached Allied Command, even just reached Phillips, there would be questions asked. Questions to which the answers might get Barnes sent home on a dishonourable discharge.

Peggy looked at Barnes in the half light, looking lost and frightened and young and promised to herself that she would make sure that those pictures would never leave this town, not by her or anyone's hands.

She walked back to the bed, pulled back the rumpled sheets – ignoring the way her skin began to tingle at the memory of what happened here earlier – and lay down. She wasn't going to get undressed, not unless she wanted to make this look like an invitation instead of a kindness – no matter how much a part of her wanted to be reckless and just pull him into bed, undress both of them and see what would happen. 

_No, Margaret Carter. Stop. Think of the stink of Churchill's cigars. Phillips' nose hairs. Dum-Dum's socks._

That worked.

The room was warm from the day's heat, the long white curtains in front of the open window billowing slightly in the breeze that brought in the cooler night air. She raised her head to look at Barnes, half-dreading that she'd made a mistake. "Well?"

Barnes, the curtain caressing his bare shoulder in the breeze, shook himself. "You're something else, Peggy Carter." He sounded awed, not mocking, so she let it slide. "Thank you."

He lay down on the other side of the bed, leaving a gap between them as wide as the Channel. Peggy smiled. It didn't stop her hand from itching to reach out and get reacquainted with the warmth and softness of his skin. Blimey, this may not have been her best idea. Her body hadn't settled down from their kiss earlier and the scent of him on the sheets and the pillows as well as the hint of his warmth radiating out toward her teased her senses.

"Thank _you_ ," she replied and meant it.

It took a few minutes for his breathing to even out into sleep. She envied him that, envied all soldiers that ability to sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself, because despite her training, she'd never managed it. Besides, every slight sigh he made in his sleep made her mind drift back to the sound of him kissing her, that deep, guttural groan. It mingled with the memory of the sounds she had picked up from him and Villaroel, the low groans, the wet, suckling kisses, the sighs, the murmured words. Listening to that through her earpiece had been arousing enough. Bursting in on them writhing on the bed, gilded by the light of the oil lamp on the dresser, lean muscles under skin turned golden, both men flushed and visibly aroused, had been a revelation. It would be so easy to reach out a hand, rest it against his stomach and caress him, tease him back into full hardness, hear those sounds he made again and then climb on him and ride him until they both shouted their pleasure. But she'd decided she wasn't going to do that.

Peggy had to cross her legs to keep herself from reaching out and slipping her hand under her dress and underwear to take care of some of the arousal.

In her mind, Lizzie cocked an eyebrow at her and was superseded by the image of Steve giving her a sad, bedraggled puppy look.

_Stop that,_ she snarled at him in her head, frustration getting the better of her. _I would have bedded you months ago, you plonker. If you're not doing anything, you don't get to make me feel guilty. We're not committed. I don't owe you anything._

Except for her promise to take care of Barnes. That, she did owe him, and wouldn't taking advantage of Barnes in this vulnerable state be the worst way of breaking her promise to Steve? Worse even, it would be hurting Barnes and that was the last thing she wanted.

Barnes rolled closer to her in his sleep.

Peggy grimaced. She usually had more self-control. Time to compose some reports in her head. She'd need to write around some of today's events. The film would need to be delivered straight to Phillips. No, the film would need to be destroyed – oh, better yet, exposed. An accident. They could pull off the blackmail so long as Villaroel _thought_ they had the damning pictures. He wouldn't fight them; he wasn't committed to the Axis forces ideologically. If she and Barnes composed their reports with care, no one farther up in the SIS would know it was Barnes in the blackmail material and not Peggy. If anyone suspected they'd deliberately messed up the film, they'd think it was to cover for her reputation. That would be accepted. 

Barnes moved again and she sucked in a harsh breath. She was hyperaware of the warm line of his body so close to her, but not quite touching. Damn it. It would be so easy to turn into his touch. 

Stop thinking about him, she chided herself. But she could hear his breath coming quicker, the way it had as she listened to him and Villaroel... No. He was asleep. Dreaming. And if he was dreaming about sex, for all she knew it was about Villaroel and not her. She wouldn't stoop to –

Barnes jerked and his hand twitched onto her hip. She froze. Was he awake? He murmured something incoherent. His brow furrowed. "No." A murmur, a plea. "Sergeant. Barnes, James. Three two five seven zero three eight..."

A nightmare. Not a pleasant one if he was reciting name, rank and serial number. His head thrashed to the side. She squinted at him in the dim light. Sweat gleamed on his upper lip. His face creased and the fingers on her hip twitched convulsively.

She couldn't let this continue. "Barnes," she whispered.

"Three two five five – " So quiet no one not right beside him would ever have heard him. No one in a crowded barracks or tent or anywhere but this eerily quiet mountain town, where all she could hear was the rush of water in the nearby ravine and the wind in the trees, punctuated by the doleful toll of the church bell each hour. How quiet he was. Just as quiet as he'd been at the hut. Had he always been that way or was it to hide how affected he'd been, because he worried Steve wouldn't have kept him at his side if he thought Barnes needed to be sent home? He must have no idea that Steve knew.

Of course, no matter what Steve may have wanted, nightmares were no reason to send a soldier home, not so long as he could still soldier on. Barnes had certainly been doing perfectly well. No matter the damage done to their souls they had to keep going, though Peggy knew it was nothing that healed, even with time. The Great War wasn't so far in the past that she hadn't seen what it did to men. Her mother had steered her away from more than one hollow-eyed veteran as a child. No one sent those men home from hell until the war was done and no one could send any soldiers home from this war either. In a just world, maybe, but nothing was just about war. Jus ad bellum was a lie, if a necessary one.

"Barnes," she tried again, but he'd started to struggle in his sleep, fighting bonds that weren't there, and he was getting frantic. 

"Bucky." Maybe using his first name would be more effective. It certainly felt right under the circumstances.

"Steve – "

She couldn't make out the rest of it, but she couldn't do what Steve had done, just stay quiet and wait it out. She couldn't let Barnes stay trapped it this ordeal. "Bucky," she snapped, putting an officer's command into it.

He snapped awake, wide and dilated eyes liquid in the flickering lamplight, nostrils flaring, breathing fast. His mouth pressed into a white line as though he were trying to bite back against a shout. He glanced at her, gaze clearing as he recognised her and his face fell before he pushed away from her.

"Awake?"

"Yeah."

He was still shaking, the bed transmitting the tremors to her. 

She pushed up on her elbow to look at him, studying his profile. "You could ask for some leave."

"No," he insisted. He moved to sit at the end of the bed with his back to her.

"Barnes." No, she'd never reach him if she continued calling him by his last name. "Bucky – "

"Everyone has nightmares," he cut her off. "We're in a war."

She pushed down her irritation. He wasn't trying to be condescending. She sighed. Everyone had nightmares indeed. "Bucky. I see you." That was something Steve, despite knowing about the nightmares, clearly no longer did. He saw an image of his best friend, one he'd put on a pedestal. The reality of Bucky Barnes was lost on him. "And I could stand to have someone who sees all of me and not just what they want to see." The way Lizzie had done. "I miss that." Missed it like a lost limb from time to time. "I thought maybe you did too."

His shoulders sagged and he twisted to look back at her. "What good does that do?"

She shrugged. Tread carefully now, Peggy, she told herself. "I know you'll keep my secrets. I'll keep yours."

"Careful what you wish for."

She scooted down the bed to sit at the foot next to him and held her hand out between them. He could take it or not. His choice. 

After looking down at it for a moment, he let out a small snort of laughter and took her hand in his. "Pinky swear?" he asked.

"It's a pact." 

They stayed at the foot of the bed for what felt like a small eternity, just staring straight ahead, no talking. Eventually, his breathing changed and he sagged against her, his head feverishly warm against her shoulder. 

He woke up again when she shifted to accommodate the weight on her shoulder, pulled his hand back, straightened and began to apologise.

"Don't be more of an idiot than you strictly need to be," she cut him off. The lamp had gone out. Stretching her back with a set of crackling noises, she went back to her side of the bed to lie down. His eyes glittered in the gaslight of the streetlamp outside the room, watching her. "I'm not going to send you an RSVP." She stretched out her hand to the middle of the bed, palm up, and closed her eyes. Again, his choice. She wasn't going to force him. And she definitely needed sleep now.

Peggy refused to give in to the urge to open her eyes when she heard him rise as well and take a few steps. The bed dipped after a few breaths and her hand was engulfed in his – large, warm, gun-calloused.

There were no more nightmares that night.

*******

Morning came soon enough to finish the last parts of the mission. Bucky packed their gear and paid for the rooms. Peggy slipped off to their contact's house to send word of their success.

She sent Villaroel an innocent seeming photograph taken outside the hotel, along with instructions on how he would be contacted next. Peggy felt a stab of pity for him, but refused to regret what they had done. The photographs were a threat that would never be executed after all; the film had been ruined. 

Bucky couldn't look her in the eyes when she came back from her final errand.

"Did he see the pictures?" he asked after a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Portuguese labs are not what they used to be," she told him, busy packing her bag. "Write your report saying I played bait. The film's a dead loss." She knew it wouldn't be the end of it for him, but at least the brass wouldn't make it any worse. "Lucky our mark is too scared to ask for proof."

"You shouldn't – "

"It's done." She shoved the dress into the suitcase with more force than was necessary. "And as far as I'm concerned, I didn't see anything. You saved me when Villaroel got handsy. The camera slipped and fell. The film was exposed. End of the story."

"Steve – "

She snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes at him. "Will find out about what really happened over my cold dead body."

Peggy concentrated on packing the suitcase again, making as much noise as possible to cover the uncomfortable silence.

Eventually, Bucky breathed out and it sounded as if he'd held his breath the entire time. "Thank you."

A knot inside her chest eased. "For what?" She turned around and gave him a wink. "You saved me, remember?"

He shook his head, a short laugh brightening his features. "I think I figured out what Steve sees in you."

"It took you this long?"

This time, he laughed for real.

 

____________________________________________  
Translations:

(1) Let me see you  
(2) So lovely.  
(3) Exchangeable.  
(4) Plenty of others around if he doesn't make it.  
(5) You're beautiful.  
(6) Stay with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone speaks Portuguese and wants to correct any mistakes I most certainly made, please drop me a comment.


	10. X. Dover, October 1944

**X.**

**Dover, October 1944**

**Steve**

Steve didn't groan, but he wanted to. The mission had been mess. He never wanted to set foot in Romania again and if Dum-Dum made one more vampire joke Steve might have to knock his teeth out. "One word to describe Operation Turkish Delight, Sir: FUBAR."

They didn't get the plans they were promised. Too many anti-aircraft guns were left operable after the raid meant to take them out. As a result, the 93rd Bomber Group took heavy losses over Ploiești. Afterward, the raging oil fires and secondary explosions from the delayed-fuse munitions they dropped turned it into a hell on Earth.

That was the end result. The mission had gone off the rails from the beginning. They had to abandon half their supplies and infiltrate on foot because of roadblocks and troop movements. Dernier had dysentery. Dum-Dum couldn't shut up. Monty thought Bucky would have the maps, but Bucky was in god damn Portugal with Peggy. Gabe and Jim were the only ones Steve didn't want to shoot himself, and they had to stay out of sight. Steve wasn't sure how they'd all made it to the safehouse.

Their contact arrived late to the rendezvous, wrecked and nervous and empty-handed. Costin had been forced to watch as their Resistance contact, Marilena, was shot down at a checkpoint. She'd been carrying their intel – hand drawn maps of the flak implacements – under her girdle, but she panicked and ran when one of the soldiers tried to take her inside the guardhouse for some slap and tickle.

She was seventeen. Costin said she looked younger. 

Her death weighed on Steve.

"Someone should have been on overwatch," Steve insisted to Colonel Phillips after he explained. If Bucky had been with him... "If we'd saved her, we would have taken out the flak train instead of missing half of it." They'd needed those plans. Whoever had risked their life to map the refinery defences would likely be found and killed as a spy too.

"Son, you can't save everyone. That's war. If you'd done anything for her, it would have given you away and compromised your mission." Colonel Phillips' craggy face creased with sorrow. "That girl getting shot wasn't on you." 

"She wasn't a soldier, sir."

"The hell she wasn't." Colonel Phillips glared at Steve. "Don't disrespect her sacrifice, god damn it."

But she hadn't been in uniform, she didn't have that protection, any more than Bucky and Peggy did in Portugal. Spies were shot. The thought had tortured Steve since he learned of Marilena's fate. It could have been them.

"Sir – "

"Write your damn report and quit bothering me, Rogers." Colonel Phillips gave him a thin-lipped smile. "I've got work to do."

"But – "

"It's a dangerous world, son. Accept it."

"Respectfully, that's why I objected to sending Agent Carter and Sergeant Barnes to Portugal undercover and out of uniform."

"You don't have a respectful bone in your body, Rogers. That girl wasn't a trained operative. Agent Carter would have handled the situation and Barnes keeps his head better than you."

"Nothing like that happened in Portugal?" Steve pressed for more information. Peggy and Bucky were back, but they'd both avoided talking about the mission. All Steve wanted was to read their reports and assure himself they'd never been in danger.

Colonel Phillips cut him off. "Need to know, Captain."

So something had happened. Damn it, he knew it.

"They did their job," Colonel Phillips continued, ignoring Steve's lack of a poker face. "The Arouca Tungsten supply is secured. Everything else is classified. Now get the hell out of my office."

"But sir – " 

"Dismissed, Captain."

Steve opened and closed his mouth, desperate to keep protesting, and knowing it wouldn't do any good. Colonel Phillips wouldn't budge.

Damn it.

"One last thing, Rogers."

Steve snapped his gaze back to Colonel Phillips. Was he willing to talk after all?

"Remind your men not to vandalise the country house. The SIS has a reputation to uphold."

Right. The SIS had the use of a country house now instead of being jammed cheek by jowl with the OSS. Donovan's spies didn't restrict their snooping to the enemy.

*******

**Finchcocks House, Kent, October 1944**

Finchcocks House was a little drive away from Dover, set securely within thirteen acres of grounds. Finchcocks. Dum-Dum had made five crude remarks in the first ten minutes alone after hearing its name, leading Monty to look as though he'd ruin his eyes from the permanent rolling and Gabe suggesting they should have left him Wallachia.

Driving toward the house, even with the beautiful, sprawling lawns now ruined by tyre tracks, the magnificence of the Georgian architecture took Steve's breath away.

The SSR had really cherry picked this place for its operatives. It boasted a huge reception hall and twelve bedrooms, two bathrooms, a library, a sitting room, dining room, several kitchens and a drawing room that made Steve want to root himself there and not leave for days. The light in it was perfect, even on rainy days.

The grand reception hall was beginning to see the wear and tear of soldiers not used to being in such a place – the panelled wainscoting to either end was riddled with holes left by darts and the floor showed scuffs and gouges.

Tired and not ready to give the other soldiers the chewing out that was needed, he walked through the ornate oak doors and up the sweeping staircase leading to the first floor. Phillips had granted him and his team access to one of the larger bedrooms while the other SIS operatives occupied the second floor and the staff apartment.

Loud laughter and singing drifted up from the barrel-vaulted cellar, indicating that the rest of the men had started winding down while Steve had been giving his report to Colonel Phillips in Dover. 

His hand on the brass door handle, Steve considered joining them after all, but his conversation with Colonel Phillips replayed in thoughts and he lost all interest in watching his team get drunk off their asses. On any other day, hearing Monty, Bucky and Gabe singing ever racier songs while Dum-Dum lost whatever game it was they were playing to Jim would have made him join them, but not tonight. Tonight, all Steve wanted to do was sleep.

The heavy door to the bedroom he shared with Bucky opened with a mournful creaking noise. They were all sharing the rooms – the SIS hadn't been _that_ generous – but it was better than knowing his team were in barracks while he stayed in officer's quarters. It had never felt right, and it was one of the reasons he preferred the time on missions where it was just them and no one to tell him what was proper procedure and what wasn't.

He unbuttoned his uniform and threw the jacket over one of the ornate chairs, half expecting to hear his ma chastising him for not folding his clothes. She would have loved this place.

When he turned toward his bed – a large but tasteful four-poster with silk drapings, starched white sheets and pillows – he stopped in his tracks and his heart did a funny somersault in his chest.

The cot Bucky had dragged in here was occupied, a familiar dark shock of hair barely visible under the thick duvet.

"Buck?" he asked. He really could do with a friendly face now. Talk to Bucky about Portugal, if Colonel Phillips wasn't willing. He didn't want to know classified details, after all. All he wanted to know is that they were safe, both Bucky and Peggy. He'd sleep a lot better, knowing that.

Bucky didn't move. His breathing was slow and regular, indicating deep sleep.

Damn it. 

Steve dropped into his bed with its too soft mattress with a frustrated huff. It wasn't like he could go back outside and seek out Peggy to ask her and finally set his mind at ease.

Damn it all to hell.

*******

The idling of a motor entered his dream and woke Steve with a start. Was it time, did he miss their transport arriving? Or worse, had they been made?

Heart slamming against his chest, he opened his eyes but forced himself to lie stock still to not give himself away… and relaxed again when his eyes adapted to the near darkness and took in the large dark room with its oil paintings, the ornate furniture and the drapings over the fourposter bed.

Not even dawn yet. He relaxed against the pillows and closed his eyes. The vehicle outside was probably a supply truck – maybe the local milk man delivering bottles of skimmed milk that still managed to have that thin layer of cream on top. Or maybe not, since the milk man wouldn't have driven across the lawn. The fresh green scent that mingled with the diesel exhaust gave away yet another soldier with no respect for the gardens around the manor house. He was going to have to talk to the men at breakfast.

When he'd snapped awake, he'd expected the familiar stink of gunpowder, unwashed bodies and hot piss, but here, the scents he picked up were kinder, older and infinitely calming. Beeswax from the candles and oil from the lamps mingled with the sharp smell of wood polish, muted by centuries of dust collected in thick carpets. Here, in this bed – too short for his size now, though it would have been perfect before the serum – he smelled lavender and starched linens, dried in the sun and pressed with a hot iron. The breeze brought in whiff of fall – cool nights heavy with dew and mist, dry leaves and ripe apples.

First birds were chirping outside, blending in with the sounds of the old house – creaking wood, curtains dragging over the polished wooden planks in the light breeze, and far below, something he'd never have heard before the serum: pots clinking in the kitchen, heavy boots on wooden floors and stone stairs. In the next room, Dum-Dum snored loud enough to make the floor vibrate. Jim groaned and a thump indicated that someone had kicked Dum-Dum's bedframe. The snoring stopped for a few minutes, then started again with renewed force. He listened more closely, trying to figure out if his team was getting up, but it sounded as though they'd all sleep in.

They deserved it – Romania had been hell. 

He tried to go back to sleep as well but found that his thoughts were turning round and round too much.

Romania. Marilena. The constant sound of gunfire, flak guns thumping and bombs dropping, that blood-curdling whistle, planes smoking and arrowing into the earth, good men dying. Bucky. Peggy. Portugal…

A rustling of sheets dragged his attention away him from his thoughts. He turned his head toward Bucky's cot. In the still dark bedroom, just a thin, pale line of light made it through the drawn blackout curtains and fell across the white sheets. Sheets that were moving, steady, fast, in a very familiar rhythm.

Steve closed his eyes and felt a blush warming his cheeks. This wasn't unfamiliar, he'd listened to Bucky jerking himself off many times back in their shoebox apartment in Brooklyn. Had seen his face once when he came, that mixture between pain and relief, brows drawn, mouth open and just so damn beautiful. Here, in Europe, he'd shared even closer quarters with his men, and he was only too familiar with the sounds of his team seeking relief, but he realised now that he hadn't heard Bucky all this time. Not once.

Trying to distract himself now was impossible, his ears were shutting out everything outside this room. Sheets rustling. Skin on skin, a low whine suppressed into forceful but quiet breaths through Bucky's nose.

God, he shouldn't be listening. This was private, and if this really was the first time Bucky spent quality time with his hand in forever, then he damn well deserved to not have an audience.

At the same time, his own morning wood took an interest and he suppressed a groan. He wanted to tell his dick to cut it out, it wasn't going to get any attention this morning, but it was futile. Here, in the safe dark of the bedroom and the warmth of the feather duvet, listening to Bucky jerking off was the worst kind of torture because even though Bucky didn't know that Steve was awake, listening was stiflingly intimate. 

Steve began to sweat, his undershirt clinging to his skin while his dick pressed against his shorts, creating a stimulation he really didn't need right now.

He heard Bucky's breath getting faster, imagined Bucky's face, illuminated by just that sliver of light, teeth sunk into his lower lip to keep quiet, nostrils flaring, his eyes closed, head slightly thrown back and his throat, vulnerable and exposed, just waiting for Steve to run his lips over it. Bucky's bare chest, sheened with sweat. His sharp hips lifting and lowering into the grip of his hands – both hands, always both hands, Steve remembered from Brooklyn, though he never looked closely enough to find out if Bucky was using the second hand to cradle and massage his balls or add pressure to the hand on his dick.

He had to press his hand against his own dick now to relieve some of the pressure but that just made it worse, and Bucky was breathing faster still, close, so close, little choked back groans escaping his throat. Steve held himself stiff as a board now, aroused as hell, and, unbidden, his imagination went to Bucky's hands on his hands, his hands on Bucky's: Bucky's hands, his hips, his dick, Bucky stripping him just as fast as he needed while Steve ran his tongue across Bucky's nipple, sucked quick and sharp and Bucky —

Whined, low under his breath. 

Steve forced himself to breathe even and slow to not give himself away even though his heart was slamming against his chest, even though he was hot enough to melt and his dick was rock hard.

The rustling of the sheets stopped. Drawing one deep, heavy breath, like a sigh of relief, Bucky slid out of his cot and left the room.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Steve gave up, pushed the duvet back and his shorts down and reached for his dick. Oh, God, he needed to hurry, Bucky could come back any moment, or his team could come in, but that didn't matter now, all that mattered was the relief of his hand on his dick. Still he couldn't stop his brain sparking like a live wire, going to Bucky and Peggy in the same room on the Portugal mission. They must have shared a room if they played the badger game. Did it start there? Did Bucky use the relative privacy of that mission to start masturbating again? Did Peggy get to hear Bucky, too? Oh, God – he moved his hand faster – did Peggy see, did she wake up like Steve just had, did she see Bucky in the pale moonlight, her hand going to her crotch as she listened to Bucky the way Steve just did? Did Peggy come to her own fingers teasing herself while Bucky jerked off? 

His hand moved ever faster on his dick. He was close now. So damn close.

Did Bucky and Peggy realise that the other was awake, masturbating, and God, did they turn to one another, taking in the other, throwing convention into the wind and kissing, finishing together what they started on their own, Bucky's head between Peggy's legs, and later, Peggy riding Bucky, creamy pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, Bucky's hips snapping up into hers, her breasts close enough for Bucky to suck kisses to before Peggy threw her head back and –

He came, unable to stop the long, low groan from escaping him.

After, he lay on the bed, breath see-sawing in and out of him. Christ, that had been intense. He had no idea how to look Bucky in the eyes this morning. Peggy, either.

He was just reaching for his shorts to clean up the worst of the mess on his hands and belly when Bucky came back in, whistling. Steve hastily scrambled to pull the duvet back over his naked legs.

"Hey, Rogers, breakfast's ready, stop lazing—" Bucky stopped. His eyebrows went up as he took in the shorts in Steve's hands. "Oh." A grin spread over his face. "Good morning, is it?"

Steve just barely resisted flipping him the bird. "Get out of here," he said. "Do your Sergeant's job and tear whoever drove over the lawn again a new one."

Bucky threw him a lazy salute and strolled out.

Before he closed the door, he gave Steve a wink. "I suggest new underwear, _Sir_."

*******

**London, October 1944**

**Steve  
**

Back in London, something was different. Not just in Bucky, but in Peggy as well.

It was subtle but noticeable and it grated on Steve like the constant sound of fingernails on a chalkboard whenever he saw them talking, especially after his little fantasy three mornings ago. 

Bucky hadn't answered any of his questions about the Portugal mission. He was Bucky's CO, he should have a right to know what happened. Not that it would be in the report, if anything had happened between Bucky and Peggy. And anyway, he seriously doubted that they did get intimate. He could differentiate between a fantasy in bed and reality after all. And despite his fear to act on the opening Peggy had given him before she left for Portugal, he had very much noticed that it would have been the perfect moment to kiss her and that she would have welcomed it, too. Peggy wouldn't two-time him. Neither would Bucky. If anything _bad_ had happened, though, it would be in the files, and he needed to know they came back fully okay. Their combined secrecy was driving him crazy.

Maybe now, a few days later, Peggy would be more willing to talk. 

He found her in shared mess hall, sitting at a table she had to herself even though the rest of the room was crowded. Whether this was out of respect or dislike or fear of her, Steve couldn't tell. He got a bowl full of what appeared to be a thick stew and walked over to Peggy's table.

"Is it okay if I join you?" 

Peggy looked up and gave an unladylike snort. "Are you asking because there are twenty other people lining up behind you and you're worried I would say no?" She gestured toward the empty chairs. "Sit down."

He pulled the chair back. "Bad day?"

"No more so than usual." She stirred the steaming contents of her bowl. "But it's nice to see you."

 _Oh_. Steve shovelled a spoonful of stew into his mouth, promptly burned his tongue and cursed under his breath.

Peggy looked amused. 

"I meant to ask earlier," he said once the burning sensation had eased and he'd found his composure again. "How was Portugal?"

The smile on her face slipped a fraction and Steve busied himself with his stew, unable to look at her for some reason.

"Successful." A small pause, the sound of her spoon dragging over cracked ceramic. "But you already knew that."

Heat crept up from under his collar all the way to his face. "I was hoping for a little more detail than that."

He still didn't look up and pretended to be more interested in his stew than he really was. Over the sound of the men talking and laughing, spoons clinking and the sounds of pots and pans being washed in the kitchens, he heard her lean back in her chair, heard her cross her arms and legs, silk slip sliding against her stockings. It was easy to imagine the sound it would make if it were his hands sliding over sleek nylons and body-warm silk… He sucked in a breath when he realised where his mind was going, unbidden, and choked on the spoonful of stew he was trying to swallow at the same time.

The next half minute was lost to a coughing fit and Peggy hitting his back repeatedly.

"Are you all right?" she asked when he could breathe normally again.

"Yeah," he croaked.

"Good." She sat back down and re-crossed her arms. "Then let me make one thing very clear: Portugal was a success and the tungsten supply was secured. That is all you need to know."

That was exactly what Colonel Phillips had said and the kind of condescending tone he had never taken very well. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin a little, now taller than her even though they were both sitting down. "I'm Bucky's commanding officer. I have a right – "

"You have the same rights as any other officer, Captain Rogers," she cut him off, "which are to obey regulations and observe operational security, not indulge your prurient curiosity." Peggy pushed her plate away from her. High colour blossomed in her cheeks. "Colonel Phillips already told you that the rest of the mission was classified. I cannot believe that you would come to me and think you could get more detail out of me. After you already badgered Bucky about it."

"Bucky?" Since when were they on first name basis?

"Do not try to distract me. I cannot believe that you tried to use our friendship to spill secrets that are above your clearance. Do you have any idea the sort of black mark that would leave on my record if I were stupid enough to fall for it? And the worst thing is that it wouldn't be you who'd pay the price if it got out. It would be me. Because the woman couldn't keep a secret." 

She wasn't talking very loud, but Steve felt people begin to stare nevertheless, sensing the change in atmosphere.

"Peggy, I –"

"I know it's hard for men like you to respect a woman and not be possessive arses, but do you really have no respect, not for your commanding officer, not even for your best friend?"

Steve wanted to protest that she didn't know men like him. He wasn't like the others, didn't treat women badly. Especially not Peggy.

"No, don't." She held up a hand between them, palm out toward him. "Not one word. You will listen now, and then we will never have this conversation again." She leaned forward, her voice low and steely, her mouth set in a thin line of annoyance. "I know you're not a spy, and you haven't been with the military for very long. I am and I have and I'm not going to indulge in a double standard and expect everyone besides you and me to observe the rules." Her index finger tapped against the tabletop, red painted fingernail tapping hard. "Besides that, Bucky deserves better than you trying to control and possess him, thinking that being his best friend gives you a right to his life." Another tap-clack. " _I_ deserve better." Her nostrils flared a little and she pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. "So either you come to your senses and learn some respect and some decency, or I will talk to Colonel Phillips about your attempts to get classified information out of your Sergeant. And I will request to no longer work on missions alongside you and your team."

Steve felt his heart sink to his stomach. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

"Have I made myself clear, Captain?"

All he could manage was a nod.

"Then I suggest you reacquaint yourself with regulations and remember you're supposed to be an officer and a gentleman, because your attempts to suborn Sergeant Barnes and myself is not the behaviour of either."

Her heels clacked against the stone floor as she walked away and Steve was left sitting in his chair with his face burning with shame. He pushed his soup bowl aside, no longer hungry. How? How had this conversation turned so fubar on him? 

A hand fell on his shoulder after a few minutes, squeezing once. "That didn't go so well, did it?" Dum-Dum asked.

Steve dropped his head to the table in front of him and shook his head. The worst thing was that Peggy was right and yet he was stuck wondering why she was on first name terms with Bucky now. They had been, once. In the mountains. But both had gone back to titles after. What had changed that?

"With respect, _Sir_." 

Dum-Dum was still there? Steve gritted his teeth. He really wasn't in the mood for dumb insolence right now. He had to find a way to make it right with Peggy somehow. They couldn't afford to have her transfer. He didn't _want_ her to transfer.

"I'd knock that thick skull of yours right now if we weren't in public."

Steve raised his head and looked at Dum-Dum with a frown. "What?"

"Whatever you said that made her so furious, go and apologise, you idiot." Dum-Dum cleared his throat. "With respect."

Steve blinked. Apologise. 

How was it he never saw the obvious solution when it came to women?

*******

"Peggy, Peggy, wait!"

His voice reflected off the stone walls of the underground tunnel and amplified to a much louder call than he'd planned.

The clacking of Peggy's heels stopped, however, so he carefully called that a win.

She turned with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face as shuttered as her body language. "What?"

He skidded to a halt in front of her and held out his hands in a placating manner. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry." She looked unimpressed.

"I didn't realise that asking you would put your reputation at risk."

She snorted. "Not just my reputation – my entire career."

"I'm really sorry." He was. "I didn't consider that you being a woman would make any difference."

She scoffed. "Even you can't be that naïve."

"It's not that," he gestured, a little helpless. "I just don't think of you as a female agent. I just think of you as Peggy. The most competent person I know."

She narrowed her eyes at him but something in her stance softened. "Are you trying to sweet-talk me?"

"No!" he insisted. "It's the god's-honest truth."

Peggy lifted her left brow. "Anyone else, I'd call a liar." She shook her head, visibly fighting a smile. "But you're just too bloody honest."

"I promise I'll never try something like that again." He didn't need to. Eventually, Bucky would talk. They always talked about everything. Portugal wouldn't be any different. "I swear."

"Oh, stop the dramatics," she said, running a hand over her face. "I know that it must seem to you that we have something to hide. We don't." 

Something about her eyes changed. It was a change so small that he doubted anyone else would have noticed, but he did and immediately all his doubts were back. He forced himself to say the next words, knowing full well that he'd have a hard time selling them. "I believe you. You don't have to – "

Something in her gaze flared up, hot, defensive. "What?"

His mind went back to three mornings ago and he swallowed, hard. For a split-second, the picture of Peggy in the hall, furious, superimposed with Peggy, naked, with her head thrown back as she rode Bucky and his mouth turned drier than the desert.

She misinterpreted his silence. "Please tell me you're not adding insult to injury by implying that I – "

"No!" It was a stupid morning fantasy, he'd never honestly thought that Peggy and Bucky had an affair. "Peggy, I'd never!"

"Remember the fondue incident?"

Steve blushed to the roots of his hair. Damn it. She was never going to let him live that one down.

"All right." She uncrossed her arms. "Before you come up with any more bizarre scenarios: The mission went exactly to plan," Peggy said, sounding weary. "It worked so well, in fact, that I'm tempted to ask Colonel Phillips to have Bucky accompany me on more covert missions. He did better than some of the so-called professionals I have worked with before."

Steve set his jaw. "You can't have him."

One sculpted eyebrow rose again. "He's not your property, Steve."

"That …" He swallowed, tried again. "That's not what I meant. I meant that the Commandos need him. He's important for the war effort."

"No one is irreplaceable."

"That's not true." It was going to sound corny, but he said it nevertheless. "You are."

She narrowed her eyes at him again, then, much to Steve's surprise, a smile began to crinkle the sides of her eyes. "You are impossible."

"The good kind of impossible, I hope?" he asked with a careful smile. Maybe if he gave her what Bucky used to call his puppy dog look, he'd be pardoned.

"Just for the record: I am still very cross with you. And you should consider yourself lucky that I know how to be discreet and not tell Bucky about any of this."

He wilted a little under her gaze. "I'm really sorry. Still."

"I can see that." Peggy rolled her eyes. "Just stop looking at me as if I took away your favourite toy."

Steve tried a careful smile.


	11. XI. Ramsgate, November 1944

**XI.**

**Ramsgate, November 1944**

**Bucky**

A rainy, cold November in Britain was about as far from fun as an ingrown toenail. Even Colonel Phillips' offer of R&R could only do so much when all they could see was rain, fog, cold winds and more rain. Bucky felt cold and damp to the bone and even the promise of Dum-Dum buying the first round of drinks did nothing to raise his spirits.

He went along nevertheless, at least to keep up appearances. How long he'd manage that, he didn't know. Not today. And not with Steve still being stubborn as a dog with a bone about the Portugal mission.

The pub Monty chose had a low ceiling and walls panelled in dark, smoke-stained wood. A fug of cigarette smoked filled it thick as the fog outside. Underneath that odor of burning tobacco, the pub smelled of booze and unwashed soldiers. The low buzz of conversation provided ambient white noise that was occasionally broken by loud, raucous laughter. It should have been a hand-in-glove moment of familiarity. Instead, Bucky felt claustrophobic. The room was too close, the ceiling beams threatened to collapse, and the smoke burned in his throat.

Jim pushed a beer in Bucky's hand, making the foam slosh over his fingers, and Bucky tried hard to figure out how much time he'd missed, zoning out.

Dum-Dum raised his glass. "To one year of the Howling Commandos – and to Cap, without whom we wouldn't be here."

"Wa-hoo," Jim added, dry as dust.

"Wa-hoo," Monty, Gabe, Dernier and Dum-Dum chimed in.

Bucky forced a smile on his face. One year. He'd been trying to forget.

"Come on, guys, bottom's up."

"And to one year of Cap wooing the fragrant Agent Carter and still not getting anywhere with her," Jim said, keeping his perfect poker face.

"Knock it off, guys, show some respect," Steve tried, which just lead to Dum-Dum howling with laughter.

Steve shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He'd never been able to take teasing, even good-natured teasing, well. "For Agent Carter."

Jim ignored him, hiding a grin against the rim of his glass. "Poor Cap. Even the Colonel stands in his way."

More cheering.

"Yeah, you should have seen the foul god damn mood he was in in Romania," Gabe said to Bucky. "Wasn't happy not going with her. You sure as hell didn't miss anything on that mission. Lucky you."

"Lucky Bucky," Dum-Dum sang and waggled his eyebrows.

Bucky winced and took a deep swig from his glass. This line of teasing was just throwing gasoline on Steve's fire.

"Well, we can't all have Sarge's charms, can we?" Gabe chimed in.

"He's a bit tight-lipped about it," Monty said with a smirk that Bucky wanted to wipe off his face. He looked toward the bar to avoid looking at Steve.

"Because I'm usually such a chatter box."

Of course, Dum-Dum never passed up on a chance for teasing. "Yeah, Jimmy, something happen you wanna share? Didn't pop the cherry before Cap could, did you?"

"Shut the fuck up, Dugan." It was the disrespect toward Peggy more than anything that made him want to throw the rest of his beer into Dum-Dum's stupid face, followed by his fist.

"He'd never." Steve found and held Bucky's gaze. "Right, Buck?"

To an outsider, this may have sounded like a show of faith in Bucky, but Bucky knew better. They'd had too many conversations like this over the past week – Steve trying with all the tactics in his repertoire to make Bucky talk about Portugal. He'd steered away from the guilt trip approach so far.

Bucky should have known it would come. It was Steve's one fool-proof weapon to win an argument. He knew that Bucky could never counter that. And maybe it was the day, this damn day, or maybe it was that he finally crumbled under pressure, but Bucky was sick of it.

He slammed his glass on the table. "What?"

Around him, the laughter died down and he felt several sets of eyes looking at him. Too damn bad. They should have fucking well know better than to choose this subject.

"What do you want me to say, Steve?"

"How about the truth?"

Fuck, the implication stung. And it was the same damn guilt trip technique Steve had used when he was still small, and Bucky hated the fact that it still worked, still made him want to defend himself and eventually fold to whatever Steve wanted. Not this time. God damn it, not this time. Not over this. He couldn't… no one could know. "I told you the truth," he pressed out from between clenched teeth. "Several times."

"But not all of it."

"Would you be happier if I told you that I had bedded your girl, that we've been at it like monkeys? Would that make you happy, _Captain_?" Fuck, it would be so much easier if that really were what happened.

High colour began to bloom in Steve's cheeks and he took a deep breath. Bucky knew what would come next. He knew the exact way that Steve's face changed, that sad look that came before a low blow. "It would make me happy if I knew you trusted me enough to tell me what really happened."

"Fuck you, Steve." Bucky pushed his chair back from the table and got up so quickly it fell over and slid a foot over the oxblood-coloured floor. "You don't get to do this. You're big enough to… "

"I'm not gonna fight you, Buck," Steve said. That calm tone of voice was doing nothing to calm Bucky's nerves. "I never had to before."

Anger slithered underneath his skin, making his fingertips vibrate with the need to punch. "Why don't you say what you really want to know?"

"I did!"

"Ah, chaps… "

" _What?!_ " On any other day, realising that he and Steve even used the same tone of voice to snarl at Monty would have been amusing. Today, it just rubbed Bucky even more wrong.

"If this is going where I think it's going, you might want to take this outside. I don't feel like paying for the inventory."

Jim glanced between him and Steve. "Need a referee?"

"Don't bother," Bucky said. "This conversation is over. And I'm leaving." He pushed his glass toward Dernier who took it and upended it with one long pull. "Didn't feel like celebrating anyway."

He turned and left the pub door slamming shut behind him. Outside, he walked into the dark street – only the light from a window in the distance providing any guidance. Everything was still under black out orders during the nights, especially in seaside towns like this. He breathed in the frigid sea air, hoping against hope that it would help clear his mind. That Steve wouldn't follow him outside.

He should have known how crazy a hope that was. Behind him, a door opened, sounds of the pub spilling out, then cutting off when the door was closed again.

"Bucky, wait."

Bucky kept walking. Maybe Steve wouldn't see him. Maybe he would accept a no from Bucky just once in his life.

"Wait!" He should have known better than to run from Steve, he knew he didn't stand a chance, and still, all he wanted was to get away before he caved and told Steve the truth after all, about Peggy and the fucked up mission leading to Raoul, God, _Raoul_ , and he couldn't, he damn well couldn't –

Steve's hand fell on his shoulder, heavy, warm, stopping him, trying to turn him around. "What the hell is wrong with you, Buck?"

Something snapped inside of him. Bucky whirled around, fist already drawn back and punched Steve, all of his sniper's precision forgotten, one horribly brutal blow to Steve's face, jaw, mouth, it didn't matter as long as it shut Steve up.

His fist connected with a sickening sound. Steve stumbled back and everything in Bucky that had been running like a hamster in a wheel screeched to a stop.

He'd hit Steve.

Steve was _bleeding._

*******

**Steve**

Bucky had hit him.

Steve shook himself and touched a hand to his stinging lip. Blood glistened against his fingertips.

In the background, blurry and illuminated by the light from a window, he saw Bucky dishevelled and like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He was panting. Staring at Steve.

Steve glanced back at his blood-stained fingers. The cut on his lip was already knitting back together, but Bucky… Steve's mind felt like a broken record. Bucky had hit him and it had _rocked_ him. He was too numb for it to actually hurt, even though he knew that a punch like that should. What hurt more was that Bucky had _hit him_. Bucky had never hit him before. Never. Playful shoves, yes, but never an outright punch with intent to hurt.

"Buck — "

"You want to know about the fucking mission? You wanna know why I kept my god damn trap shut about it?"

Bucky came closer, and for the first time in his life, Steve backed half a step down. "Carter didn't do anything, you idiot. She kept her perfect damn virtue."

"Then what –?"

"I'm the god damn fucking problem, Steve." Bucky ran both hands through his hair. "Carter was supposed to seduce the target, but he was queer. A fairy." Bucky took a deep breath, then blurted, "So I took over, and I bought him a drink and took him back to the hotel and like a good little American whore. I undressed him and Carter took the god damn pictures and we blackmailed him." His voice had risen into a near-hysteric shout. "Are you fucking happy now? Isn't that everything you never wanted to know about your best friend?"

Steve's heart was in free-fall. His scalp prickled and the damp ocean air chilled him to the bone. "Buck – "

"Not enough? Want to know what else I did?" Bucky crowded into Steve's personal space and clamped his hands to the left and right of his face, vice-like. His hands were cold. "I did _this_."

Steve expected Bucky to knock his head against his forehead, braced himself for more pain, but instead, Bucky darted forward and kissed him, catching him open mouthed, tongue and all. It was as dirty and heated a kiss as Steve had never experienced before and his mind lagged behind because this was Bucky. _Kissing_ him. Kissing him like a punishment, when all Steve wanted to do was to hold on, to keep him close, to slow down, to turn this around, to –

Before Steve could really process what was happening, Bucky backed away, panting.

"There. I kissed him. Just like that." Bucky's mouth was smeared with Steve's blood, his lips swollen. His eyes were large and terrified. "I'm sorry I hit you, but Steve, for the love of God, leave Carter alone and shut the fuck up about Portugal."

Bucky wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He stared at Steve for a couple more seconds, then he turned and bolted.

The light behind the window died, plunging the street into darkness.

Steve staggered back until his back hit a wall and listened to his heartbeat thunder in his ears.

What the hell had just happened?

*******

**Peggy**

Peggy ran into him at the Oak and Shield.

Not exactly the spot she'd expected to meet any one of the Howlies, certainly not Bucky.

He was sitting by the bar alone, and even though the pub was crowded, there were empty chairs to his left and right. It was respect that kept people away, not the dislike of American soldiers. Respect or fear. The bartender had placed the bottle in front of Bucky, apparently fed up with refilling Bucky' shot glass, or maybe Bucky had just paid well enough.

Something about him made her step closer instead of turning away and finding another pub. She didn't fear being discovered by other soldiers here, the Oak and Shield was a well-kept secret among locals. Dark and smoky and a little on the dirty side, with rough wooden planks as floorboards that had likely seen hundreds of beers spilled on them, the walls and bar could tell tales of all the sad stories men had to tell if one would only ask.

Peggy slid on the chair next to Bucky, ignoring the surprised looks the other patrons gave her. "I'll have a glass to go with the Sergeant's bottle," she told the bartender who just shrugged, unimpressed, and slid a shot glass over the dark and polished surface of the bar. She stopped its hurtling course and reached for the bottle.

"This one's mine," Bucky said, grabbing her around the wrist and stopping her hand. "Get your own."

"Charming." She slid her wrist out of his grip easily and took the bottle after all. "I thought that with Steve around, you'd know some manners."

"Steve's not here, is he?" He took the bottle from her and took a deep swig from it, licking the bottle's mouth when he'd finished.

"Is that supposed to dissuade me?" She shook her head and reached for the bottle again, setting it against her lips, too. "I had a brother and I've been with the military longer than you have."

She wrinkled her nose when she set the bottle down. It was whisky, but of the cheaper variety. She'd have been surprised if the bartender would have given Bucky the really good stuff, even after he'd paid. Some of the pub owners had a strict policy of never giving out the good stuff to the soldiers – none of them appreciated it, anyway.

He looked at her without trying to take the bottle from her again. Kept watching when she licked the bottle mouth, too. His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips and back again. It felt like the oddest game of chicken she'd ever had.

"Are we even now?" she asked. She thrust the bottle at him. "You could always take a sip now so we've come full circle on the exchange of saliva."

 _Not that we still need to worry about that, do we?_ A voice inside of her asked. _Not after that kiss in Portugal._

They'd never talked about it. Not once. He'd fallen asleep with her lying next to him, curled against her with his head feverishly warm and she'd not slept a wink that night, fighting the urge to wake him up, climb on top of him and ride him until the break of dawn.

What she'd felt had been carnal. Not wrong. She refused to believe in right and wrong, even if it would have been wrong for him that night and she'd never have taken advantage. But if he'd been less fragile… Peggy grabbed the bottle and took a heavy swig. God, she'd have made him see stars, and made sure that he'd made her see bloody fireworks.

Of course, it felt like she was betraying Steve, but that night, it wouldn't have mattered, because Steve wasn't there and Bucky _was_ and they'd both have been willing. It would have been their secret. A secret she would have taken to the grave. Some nights – with her hand between her legs, panting, imagining desirable but impossible things, she imagined it being easy, to have what she wanted, to have Steve's earnestness and goodness of heart and bloody Greek god's body and Bucky' humour, his air of experience, his dark and warm scent and his thrillingly luscious kisses – she regretted that this was a secret she didn't get a chance to keep.

As soon as they'd returned England and she'd had that unfortunate but necessary conversation with Steve, the Commandos had been on near-constant missions. She'd barely seen Steve or Bucky in the last weeks. She wasn't embarrassed to say she jumped at the opportunity to suggest a town for R&R for the Commandos and make sure she was there along with them.

He took the bottle from her and set it to his lips again and the way his throat worked made her realise how wrong she'd been – whatever had happened, he was willing to risk poisoning himself and upending that entire bottle.

"Stop." She reached out her hand, hoping her tone would be enough to make him comply, but it didn't work. It took her a sharper tone of voice and laying a hand on the bottle to make him stop drinking and let her take the bottle away.

He looked pale and sweaty, grey and miserable, with his eyes glazed over from what had to be the alcohol.

"Come on, get up," she said when she noticed him swaying on the chair. "The owner shouldn't need to clean up any more than is strictly necessary." She took the bottle and stuck it inside her coat pocket. No need to waste perfectly good alcohol. Well, not _good_ alcohol, but it might come in handy one day.

Bucky didn't reply, just let her manhandle him out the door and into the frigid, salty night air. Peggy shivered, thinking that she really should have brought a scarf.

Through the nearest narrow lane, she could hear the waves rolling against the shore. She made her decision quickly: if Bucky threw up soon, as she expected him to, it would be easier to get him cleaned up down by the sea.

"I have no idea why I'm spending my evening saving your behind," she said and grabbed his elbow, steering him. Her heels clicked on the cobblestones, creating a loud echo in the otherwise quiet lane. "But I will. So you had better tell me why you were trying to drink yourself into oblivion."

A few months ago, she'd have left him where he was. One more drunken soldier wasn't her responsibility, not even when he was part of Steve's command. There were two types of drunk people, the handsy, mean ones and the weepy ones and while she despised the first, she was rattled by the second. Maybe it was a matter of too much empathy, something that tended to stand in her way on occasion. It was easier to sneer and walk away. She'd learned early on not to waste her resources on drunk people.

So why on earth was she making an exception for Bucky now?

It had started during their rescue mission, a respect for him and his history with Steve, a glimpse behind the façade he showed the world. Portugal had just cemented it, because there, she'd learned that while Bucky saw the bigger picture, he also knew that sometimes, to get to a desired outcome, you had to bend the rules, you had to be willing to do uncomfortable things that most others wouldn't. And while a lot of intelligence workers possessed that willingness, what had astounded her in Portugal was that Bucky regained his scruples. The empathy she considered her weakness was something she'd seen in him, too, in the way he'd felt for Villaroel. 

Bucky had turned from a very attractive, mouthy Yank into someone Peggy was glad to call a friend.

They'd reached the darkened seaside promenade by now and he still hadn't answered. It was time to get out the big guns, because she knew that whatever it was, he had to talk about it lest he find another bottle. "Bucky." 

He flinched, gave her a surprised look. Above them, a lone seagull cried its protest against a fresh gust of wind from the sea.

"Is that all it takes to shake you out of your fugue? Saying your name?"

"The last time you did was – "

"I remember." She did. She'd been fighting with herself, trying to not give into what she wanted and being there for him instead. Funny how, at least regarding the name, she'd come full circle. "What's wrong? What happened?"

He looked around, saw what she saw: a couple, arm in arm, giggling and kissing. "Not here." He indicated the dark beach.

"You should be glad that I trust you," she said and started walking down the steep flight of stairs until she stepped onto wet, clumpy sand. She wouldn't be walking down to a dark, deserted beach with anyone else, save Steve. Muggers and worse were often hiding until an opportunity presented itself.

"I am."

He didn't slur his speech, which surprised her. Maybe the bartender had watered the whisky down more than she'd realised.

With the high wall of the promenade looming over them, the few sounds of the town were subdued so all she could hear was the waves rolling against the beach, the long, drawn-out cries of the seagulls and the quiet night-time activity down at Naval Command. Ahead of them, the white cliffs gleamed even in the drizzly night.

Feeling the need for a more profound connection, she poked her elbow to his side and offered the crook of her arm to him. She couldn't make out his face, but heard his quiet snort of amusement. He linked his arm with hers, though.

They walked like this for long minutes, quiet, just breathing in the iodine sharpness of the sea air. She felt his muscles tremble even through the thick wool of her coat.

"Talk to me," she said eventually.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. See, you're even doing it now. I heard syllables coming from your mouth. I do believe that constitutes talking."

"Don't – "

She stopped walking, extricated her arm from his and planted herself in front of him. Her heels sank into the sand. "What's wrong? And don't try to tell me it's nothing."

His breathing picked up. The trembling under her hands intensified.

"Please. You don't have to carry everything yourself."

He looked toward the sea. "It's easier when I do."

"Easier for whom?" She placed a hand against his cheek, turning him back to look at her. "Admitting that you're at your limits isn't a weakness. We all have low points."

A bitter sound, somewhere between a snort and a humourless laugh. "Low points."

"Bucky…"

A deep breath. A dying man's breath. "I kissed him."

Was this about Portugal still? What happened with Villaroel had really shaken him back then. Was it still on his mind?

"I punched him… and then I kissed him and, God," he dropped his head to his chest, continuing in a whisper, "both felt so damn good."

Peggy was at a loss for words. There was no doubt now that Bucky was talking about Steve, but she couldn't make sense of it all. Did he and Steve finally –.

"I split his lip." There was horrified awe in his voice. "I _rocked_ him. How the hell could I make Steve even sway?"

By doing something he didn't expect.

"I’ve never hit him before. Not once in my life." 

She doubted he'd kissed him before, either, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

Bucky ran both hands over his face as though scrubbing it clean. "How fucked up am I that I enjoyed that?"

"Not any more than I am. I nearly shot him once." Her attempt at humour fell flat as a flounder on dry land.

"I kissed him. The way I kissed Raoul."

Raoul. So he wasn’t referring to Villaroel by his last name, cementing what Peggy had worried about since that night in Portugal: Bucky had lost his objectivity.

"Steve’s my best friend. I can’t screw that up. He shouldn’t be worrying about someone as fucked in the head as I am."

"Oh, no," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "Listen to me. Love is never wrong."

He shook his head and moved out of her reach, walking a few steps away. "It's not that."

"Isn't it?" She would have expected a lot, but not him being at ease about being attracted to both sexes.

"It's been a year. Since… " He shoved his foot into the sand, making it fly toward the water.

Oh. Oh, Christ, she had forgotten. A year ago, Steve had rescued the prisoners from that Hydra work camp. Had rescued Bucky.

"You're here now. Let the past lie."

"I can't. It's always there." He knocked his fist against his head hard enough she heard the dull sound. "All those men that were killed. More that would have been killed if I hadn't made them surrender. I made them surrender. I was in charge then and I made them surrender. The decision was mine. I knew being prisoners was going to be bad, but never in my worst nightmares… "

He swayed and Peggy wanted to reach out and steady him but had the distinct feeling that touching him now would be disastrous.

"They used them until they were used up. All those kids, growing thinner and thinner, rotten food and not enough of it, the beatings from the guards, working until they either dropped from exhaustion or made mistakes and got into one of the machines, and I couldn't stop it. Any of it. I made them surrender, do you see? I put them there."

"You made sure they didn't all die in the battlefield," she said quietly.

"What fucking difference did it make?" A shout, a scream. "They started taking the stronger ones to that damn medical wing. They never returned. Even the ones that were healthy, and strong. We heard them scream at night when it was quiet. And I couldn't do anything. They were my responsibility."

"All of them?"

"I made them surrender. Steve… never would have surrendered. He never backs down from a fight. What kind of a coward – "

There was no way she could let him finish that sentence. "That's because Steve, for all that I admire about him, doesn't understand when it's time to cut your losses. When it's time to make a hard decision because people will suffer if you don't."

"He wouldn't have to cut any losses. He'd have just got them out."

"Listen to me. There are impossible odds. This is a war. You did the best you could for your men. It takes more bravery to surrender than to keep fighting. What would the difference have been if you hadn't surrendered? All of your men, including you, would have died. You saved them. All of those men under your command who returned from that camp."

"Steve saved them."

"Steve wasn't there during the time of imprisonment. He freed you, but he wasn't the one who made those men survive." She took a deep breath. "I read the reports from the other soldiers." He snapped his head around to look at her. The beam from the lighthouse reflected in his eyes, icy blue. Large. Terrified. "I know what you did for that kid, what put you on Dr. Zola's radar." A gust of wind from the sea buffeted into them, taking what little warmth she had accumulated during the walk with it. "I know that Zola stopped taking others once he had you."

Without warning, Bucky dropped to his knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut. It happened so quickly that she had no chance to catch him. She moved, but when she reached him, something told her to not get too close, to wait until he caught himself. Not talking, not reaching out with a gesture of comfort right then was one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

Head hanging, Bucky dropped his hands as well, digging his fingers in the sand. For unbearable minutes, he said nothing. Then, finally, lifting his hands and watching the sand trickle from his fingers, she heard a whispered, "He should have left me there."

Peggy bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood to stop herself from speaking. Somewhere behind her, she heard a thump as if something had impacted with the sand, but, not sensing any threat, she dismissed it. What happened right here was more important.

"He doesn't know who came back from that lab."

"The most important person in his life." Her restraint had reached its limits. "One of the most admirable men I know."

"Admirable." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "They call Schmidt the Red Skull." He looked up at her, eyes glittering in the semi darkness. "The Devil." He looked away again, covered his face with his hands. "What if Steve brought the devil with him? Wouldn't it be better to kill the devil? Before he hurts – "

This was no good. "Even the devil was an angel once." She reached for his hands, gently removed them from his face and tipped his chin up. "But the devil doesn't do good. He doesn't save people." Sand scratched against stubble and skin when she ran her fingers along his cheek. "Without you, Steve would have died in the avalanche, because I wouldn't have found him in time. Steve would have been shot several times if it weren't for you covering him. If it weren't for you setting his head straight, he'd consider himself invincible and would have been killed or captured many times. If it weren't for you, we never would have secured the tungsten that will make sure the Nazis can produce fewer weapons. Tell me, is that something the devil would do?"

"I… "

Something seemed to be reaching him. The lighthouse's beam threw his features into sharp relief again, showing his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Come here." She gently motioned for him to get up. 

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to give you a hug now and I refuse to ruin the new pair of stockings Howard sent."

He tipped his head up to look at her. "Why?" The question held so much more. 

"Because you bloody well deserve it, you ninny." And because she bloody well needed it or she'd crawl out of her skin with the need to comfort. All she could think was of Michael, if somehow he could come back, he would be tortured like this. It was unbearable.

For several blinks of an eye, she thought he'd remain where he was, but finally, he moved, stood fluidly, stepped forward and sagged into her embrace.

His head was heavy against her shoulder, his skin so warm she wondered if he was running a fever. There was nothing she could do, nothing she wanted to do but run her hands in long, soothing motions along his back. Strangely, this reminded her of doing the same for Steve before she left for Portugal. 

Wasn't this bizarre. These men the world saw as invincible, needing the simplest comfort. Needing and accepting it from her. Something in her chest blossomed, warm and fiercely protective.

"Steve is lucky he's had a friend like you beside him all these years," she murmured against his neck. Breathing in, she caught his scent – familiar from the night in Portugal, warm and exhilarating at the same time, making something in her stomach flutter inappropriately.

He huffed, warm breath going through the gap between her coat and her neck. "Some friend."

"How many more times do I have tell you to listen today?"

"Until I can believe it," he murmured, moving even more into their embrace. 

Peggy curled her hand around the back of his neck. A low rumble of appreciation, a cat-like sound escaped him. She smiled. "Anyone would be lucky to have a man like you love them."

His breath hitched. His hands tightened against her back. He moved his head so his forehead was resting against the side of her neck, and it was like she was back in that hotel room in Portugal. As if the very air around them changed to something warmer, more intimate. The sudden change made her dizzy.

"Anyone?" Voice low, curious, full of promise, and bloody hell, there it was again. That odd spark she'd felt in Portugal, the knowledge that – if it weren't for Steve between them – they would and could chance it, for one night, for as many nights as they needed without risking getting burned because they both knew the stakes, both knew how to be discreet. She drew a deep breath, painfully aware of her breasts pressed against his chest, one of his uniform buttons chafing her nipple, of the unexpected want pooling low in her stomach. They moved at the same time to look at one another, cheeks touching as they turned, gazes seeking contact, breathing hitched but synchronised, the way his lips parted and she moistened hers and this would be all she'd been looking for in dark and lonely nights, if she didn't know, didn't – 

"Steve," Bucky murmured. Hands falling from her hips to his side, he took a step back. "I'm not… I'm not taking his girl from him."

Peggy bit back on the habitual response and said, "And I'm not taking his guy."

Strange as it was, the mutual knowledge, and the mutual decision not to act on what it was between them felt good. Except for the small voice at the back of her head complaining in a decidedly whiny voice that she was not getting any sex tonight. _Again_. Bloody hell. She closed the mental door in front of that voice's face.

She heard Bucky suppress a snort of laughter. "The idiot has no idea how lucky he is."

"Indeed he doesn't," she agreed and linked her arm with his. "Ready for some tea?"

"Make it coffee and you've got yourself a deal," he replied. "And, Peggy?"

She looked up at him. "Hm?"

He brushed a kiss against her forehead. "Thank you."

She closed her eyes and allowed herself a selfish second to savour the contact. A second was all she managed, because they weren't alone on the beach any longer.

"Oh, ah, God, I'm sorry, I didn't, I thought, I was just – "

Bucky's arm was gone so quickly she stumbled, barely catching herself. 

"Stevie?" There was a thread of panic in Bucky's voice.

Peggy felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck and cheeks. "Steve." Why on earth was she sounding so meek? She had no reason to be embarrassed. Nothing happened.

"I, I didn't," Steve stuttered. He brushed the hair from his forehead. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

With Bucky having gone mute beside her, his body language – even in the semi-darkness – that of a kicked dog, Peggy drew her shoulders back, lifting her chin. "You weren't interrupting anything."

"I, it just looked like…" He trailed off, gesturing between her and Bucky. "You were gone for a long time. Together. And then …"

"Were you following me?"

"NO!" Steve held out his hands in front of him, placating. "Not you, I wasn't – "

"So you were following Bucky."

"Since when are you –"

"Don't try to distract me. Were you following Bucky?"

"I, yes, I –"

"So, what, you still didn't have enough?" She was overreacting a little, she knew, but a tidal wave of protectiveness for Bucky was sweeping over her. "Were you going to continue badgering him about revealing a classified mission after you had _promised_ me to accept that you don't get to know? What kind of a bloody-minded, colossal berk are you, Steven Rogers?"

Next to her, Bucky suppressed a snort of laughter.

"Peggy, that's not – "

"You're right that's not." She stepped up close and poked her finger against Steve's sternum, satisfied to feel him budge a little. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. It was just surprise, she was under no illusion that she could even so much as make him sway, but it felt good. "That's not how you treat a friend, someone you love."

Bucky's quiet intake of breath made her choose her next words carefully. "If you don't trust him – and don't trust me – then don't call us friends. And if you can't tell the difference between a chaste kiss of friendship and a cheating kiss – and bloody hell, it wouldn't have been cheating in the first place because you haven't even managed to ask me out for a dance yet." She poked his chest harder. "I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone but myself, and so does Bucky, so bloody well stop taking us for granted and think that we will accept every fool-headed buffoonery from you just because you – "

"Peggy, wait." To her surprise, Bucky laid her hand on her arm, stopping her mid-rant.

She shot him a curious look.

"Why are you here, Steve?" Buck asked.

Steve looked torn, glancing between her and Bucky as though unsure how to answer without make her snarl at him again.

"Go on," she said.

"I had to see you," Steve said finally, turning fully to Bucky. "I meant to… " He made an indecipherable gesture. "And then you went to the beach and you fell to your knees and I had to see if you were okay." 

So it was worry, not intrusiveness. "Steve… "

"I shouldn't have pushed you. It's just that we never had any secrets between us and now suddenly there was one and I just – " He flailed, and then it was as if a valve had been opened. "I know you have a right to your own life, it's just that I've never not been part of it and that hurt, thinking that maybe you didn't trust me enough to tell me everything anymore and… "

Peggy had to hold herself back from socking Steve for making Bucky feel guilty even more instead of issuing a proper apology. She took a step back instead. What was happening here was something private, something she wasn't even sure she should be privy to.

"But that's not fair, is it?" Steve continued. "I just felt left out and I overreacted. I'm sorry. Sorry for being enough of an ass you had no other way but to drive that message home."

"Shut up, just…" Bucky thumped his balled fist against Steve's chest. He dropped his hand, gulping in a desperate breath. "Just shut up." He reached out for Peggy, finding her hand in the dark and clinging to it like a lifeline. "I'm the one who's sorry, okay? Sorry I socked you." He averted his gaze, looking to the sea. His next words were a mere murmur. "Sorry for what I did after."

Steve' reaction to that was rather remarkable. His breath stuttered, his eyes widened and if it were any lighter, Peggy was sure she'd see a faint blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. He looked at Peggy, at Bucky with his hand in hers, his lips moving on words she couldn't hear, then at the sand, the high, looming wall to their left, the sea to their right, anything to avoid looking at either of them. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders. His words were so quiet that Peggy had to strain her ears to hear them.

"I don't want you to be sorry for that." A pause. "I'm not."

Bucky's head snapped up. The gaze he aimed at the crown of Steve's head was half confusion, half painful hope. "What… " He swallowed, his throat so dry it clicked. "What are you saying?"

Yes, Peggy wondered, what _was_ Steve saying?

"That Peggy's right. I do. I lo – " Steve, too, swallowed, hard. "Any… any way I can have you."

Bucky had gone very still. His hand was trembling in hers.

"I wasn't just jealous of the idea of you kissing Peggy. I was jealous of Peggy kissing you."

That… didn't really make it any less insulting. Her mouth turned down.

"If there ever was a woman you could fall for and who deserved your attention, it would be someone gorgeous and smart and tough enough to match anyone. Someone you could never get tired of." Steve ducked his head even more, his left foot digging into the sand. "Someone like Peggy."

A ridiculous wave of warmth rolled over Peggy. Damned if he didn't find exactly the right words if he really tried.

"And I wanted that for you. And Peggy, you won't find anyone better than Bucky. But it's killing me because I want – " An anguished breath. He finally looked up. What she saw was pain, written over his face so plain and clear she had no idea how she missed it earlier. "I want what I can't have."

Lizzie had looked the same, that night in Brighton. Afraid, so sure she was going to be rejected. What a relief that first kiss had been. What a wonder, that first night. 

But Steve and Bucky were men. Even at her father's college, the boys had to be discreet. It had been bad enough for her and Lizzie, being under constant scrutiny thanks to her father's position of power. It didn't bear thinking what would happen in the US military, especially in Steve's exposed position.

"Steve," Peggy laced her fingers with Bucky's to keep him from running.

Steve's gaze flickered to her, uncertain, uneasy. "Yeah?"

"What do you want?"

"I – "

"What," she said, slowly, placing a hand against his cheek and turning him back to face her, "do you want?"

He rested his head against her hand for a few seconds before shaking his head. "It's not possible."

"And who decides that? You?"

"It's not – "

"Proper?" she moved her hand from her cheek to tap his forehead. "Don't be more of a fool than you have to be." A deep inhale. Above them, the lone seagull cried. Peggy dropped her voice to a whisper. "If no one were here to tell you what was allowed and what wasn't, what would you want?"

"I _can't_."

"I never took you for someone who gave up that easily."

"Peggy."

All right. Maybe it was time to get out the big guns. "I once lost the chance to keep someone I loved dearly because I was too much of a coward to speak. Is that what you want? Has the war taught you nothing? We could all be gone tomorrow. If this were your last night on earth, what would you want? What would you do?"

Steve glimpsed at Bucky, then away again. "I'd… I'd want… "

She waited. Nothing followed.

"You'll be the death of me, Steven Rogers. Here, I'll go first: If this were my last night on earth, I'd want to make love to you. And to your best friend. Together." 

Even in the dim light, she could see Steve blush this time, making her glad she hadn't chosen more direct words. She didn't need to look at Bucky. His hand had clenched around hers before easing up a little. He was stroking his thumb along the back of her hand in the tiniest of motions. She wondered if he was smiling, but knew that as soon as she checked, he'd likely run.

"So what about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. What would you want?"

Steve's throat must be incredibly dry, she heard it click when he swallowed. He lifted his chin and forced out his answer, though. "I would very much like to kiss you."

How a grown man could be so bloody adorable was beyond her. A thrill went through her at the firmness of his answer, though.

Bucky stopped the motion of his thumb. She grasped his hand harder, feeling him trying to pull away.

"What about Bucky?" she asked, knowing she was being merciless, but she had no time for foolishness. None of them did. "Do you want to kiss him?"

Steve closed his eyes. 

Bucky's hand in hers began to sweat and tremble. 

"Steve?"

"Yes," came the whispered reply.

"And does either of us look like we would reject your affection?"

Steve dropped his head to his chin, not looking at either of them. "I can't have both of you."

She thought of Lizzie and Fin and her. Lizzie and Fin and Mikaela and it hit her like a punch to the gut, soundless and breathtaking in its power. The air caught in her lung and she let go in a soft gasp that had Steve and Bucky both turning their attention to her, curiosity and worry on their faces.

 _They needn't choose_. Fin and Lizzie and Mikaela hadn't. Who on earth said that she had to? They had to?

It didn't have to be either/or, this or that, one or the other. They could all have everything. They only had to reach out and grasp onto what they needed and wanted and to hell with what society with its hypocrisy and false morals said. If you could love more than one child, more than one parent, more than one friend, then you could damn well love more than one man, one woman. 

She had to be the one to hold out her hand, though, neither Bucky nor Steve would dream of it. No, not one hand, Peggy thought a little hysterically, _both_ hands. She had to hold onto Bucky and she had to grab onto Steve and tell the two of them to do what instinct already told them: to hold onto one another. Two another. Three another.

She looked at Bucky – eyes wide and mouth parted, hair tumbling down over his forehead, breathing shallowly and doing his best to look like he wasn't there. This was no good. She'd had a revelation and didn't have the patience for their issues. It was the war. It was now or never. They might never get a chance again tomorrow.

"Bloody hell, you two. This is the last time I'm going first."

She kept hold of Bucky's hand, but angled her upper body toward Steve, curling her hand around his chin and placing a light but lingering kiss on his lips. Before she could let herself enjoy the softness and warmth of his lips, she turned toward Bucky and kissed him, too. Stepping back from him was even harder than stepping back from Steve had been; she knew how thrilling his kisses could be. "Your turn. I've made my position clear. Make your decision or I'm leaving." She didn't want to, but she knew that any more dancing around it would erode all three of them. A decision had to be made. Right here. Right now.

She saw Steve's chest rising and falling under quicker breaths while Bucky looked like he expected to be taken to the gallows. He raised his chin, though. Met Steve's gaze head-on. Licked his lips, eyes half-lidded. Steve's gaze zeroed in on Bucky's mouth. Bucky's breathing was loud in the relative quiet of the night. Steve's hand in hers began to sweat. When she thought that he'd never find the courage, he moved, brushing his lips against Bucky's.

Bucky froze.

Steve moved back a fraction and stared at Bucky, at the way he was holding his breath, eyes closed and licking his lips as if to savour the taste Steve left there. 

Bloody hell but if that wasn't one of the most erotic things she'd seen in her life.

Steve seemed to come to the same decision. He darted forward and kissed Bucky as if he'd been asphyxiating and Bucky were the sole source of oxygen in the world. It was like watching two stars collide, the meeting of their lips and tongues wet and noisy and incendiary, so intense that she felt the urge to shove her hand between her legs – only to remember that she couldn't, because both Steve and Bucky were holding on to her. Bucky groaned low under his breath and let go of her hand only to slide it around her waist and pull her closer, moving away from Steve's mouth with a gasp and leaning down to kiss her so hard their teeth clacked.

Steve's breath was fast against the side of her neck, sliding underneath her collar, making her quiver with anticipation, so she had to, had to stop kissing Bucky and move to Steve, to finally get a real taste of the lips that had featured in her fantasies so often. If this was all she'd get from them, she wanted to have these kisses to remember.

She teased her tongue against the seal of Steve's lips and he opened with a gasp. Peggy tasted traces of the cheap whiskey Bucky had had earlier and just knowing that he was right there, watching them, fuelled the low burning fire in her belly. She licked into Steve's mouth and her free hand went to his head, nails catching in his hair as she attempted to bring him closer. Much to her surprise, Steve's kiss was nowhere near as chaste or inexperienced as she'd have expected. He touched her tongue against his, quick, electric touches, gone too soon to satisfy. Next to her, Bucky moved closer, his hand going from her waist up to the back of her head, closing his fingers around her hair. The motion made her lean back against his hand, changing the angle of the kiss, allowing her and Steve to tease each other's tongues until they were both panting.

"So fucking gorgeous," Bucky murmured against her ear when they finally broke apart. He ran his index finger along her neck, making her shiver, then moved to touch Steve's bottom lip. Steve's eyes turned even darker than before.

Peggy's mouth went dry. "My accommodation is just a few hundred yards away." 

Both Steve and Bucky froze.

Peggy refused to blush. To hell with modesty. To hell with tomorrow. She wanted. Now. Wanted to have enough sex she'd fall asleep so exhausted she wouldn't dream. Wanted to wake up with the heat of two bodies next to hers.

She extricated herself from both men. "I'm going to start walking now and unlock the back entrance of my B&B. My room is the second one on the first floor to the left. If you're not there in fifteen minutes, this will never have happened. And it never will again. With either one of you." She wasn't going to waste her time on a cowards.

"If you're there, however… " She gave them a slow smile but left the sentence hanging between them like a fine mist of promise. 

She turned. Started walking. Her knees were wobbly and her stomach in knots. The sea air cooled her kiss-swollen lips and made her shiver.

She had no idea if she'd spend the night alone or in company.

In the end, it didn't matter. She'd put her cards on the table, and even if she'd bet too big, it was better to have it end right here and now than to never get anywhere, to always make one of them unhappy. All three of them would share the fallout of Steve's and Bucky's decision. One way or the other.


	12. XII. Broadstairs House, Ramsgate, October 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so very NC-17. And so very long. And it used to be 9 pages longer still. You have my beta-readers to thank for sparing you the rest. ;-)

**XII.**

**Broadstairs House, Ramsgate, October 1944**

**Peggy**

Peggy walked in the B&B's front door alone and greeted the patron – little old, hard-of-hearing Miss McHaggerty, who had known her since she spent summers here with her family – with a loud, "Good evening."

Miss McHaggerty gave her a slow, pleased smile in return. "Good evening, dear. Nasty weather, isn't it?"

"Feels like winter is coming," Peggy agreed, though she didn't feel like making conversation at all. A little small-talk, however, tended to help keep people at a manageable distance.

"I can feel it in my bones," Miss McHaggerty agreed. "You stay warm now. Can I send a tea to your room?" With the war keeping the seaside travellers away, Peggy was the only guest in the small hotel. Miss McHaggerty had been spoiling her since she'd arrived.

"I'm afraid I'm off to Bedfordshire," Peggy said with a wink, but inflected regret in her voice. The last thing she needed now was to have little old Miss McHaggerty find Steve and Bucky in her room. "But I would love some proper tea in the morning."

"I will get you a pot at your table, dear. You sleep tight now."

That really was the last thing she hoped she would do in the next few hours.

She thanked Mrs. McHaggerty, walked up the stairs as loudly as she could, opening and closing the closest door. Then she tiptoed her way down to the back entrance, grateful for the thick carpet swallowing her steps.

Her ultimatum wasn't over yet, and she withstood the urge to look outside the door when she unlocked it, quietly climbed the stairs again to return to her room. She hoped for a specific end to the evening, but they were men. Soldiers brave in battle, but she wouldn't put cold feet past them.

Speaking of cold feet… When she'd arrived, her room had been as pretty as she'd remembered, with its lace-covered bed and the flower wallpaper, but cold and unpleasant to stay in for longer than a few minutes. Miss McHaggerty had been surprised and delighted to have a guest when she clearly hadn't rented the room to anyone in the past month or longer. Even more delighted that it was Peggy – is that really little Peggy Carter? My, you have grown! – who made it to her B&B during wartime. Peggy unlocked the door to her room and the light from the stairwell brightened the darkness ahead of her. When she flipped the light switch behind the door, she saw that Miss McHaggerty had gone out of her way to make Peggy feel welcome while Peggy had been out. She'd put new coal on the fire and set an old-fashioned oil-lamp next to the wash basin and the water jug in case the electricity was cut during the night. Peggy slid off her shoes and enjoyed the soft give of the plush carpet under her stockinged feet, the dry press of warmth and the scent of lavender and dried roses. The room felt warm and inviting, so different from the inhospitable rooms she was used to by now. Peggy smiled and reached for the matches to light the lamp. More comfortable with the lamp's warm glow, she switched off the overhead light, shrugged out of her coat and placed it on the armchair by the fireplace.

Her heart beat fast against her ribcage as she replayed her words down by the beach. _`If you're not there in fifteen minutes, this will never have happened. And it never will again.'_ She had been referring to all three of them spending the night together, but what if… A tendril of cold snaked down her spine and she sank down on the generously upholstered armchair, hands pressed against her mouth, thinking. 

What if, instead of none of them showing up, only one of them did? Would she reject Bucky if he turned up alone? Or Steve? What if she didn't? What if she slept with the one who came to her room, ignoring the other? Was she so desperate to have sex that she'd ruin all of their trust in one another, their friendship, their working relationship? But, a small, insistent voice at the back of her mind asked, would it be so bad if she did? If she was selfish for once? The decision to come here alone or together wasn't hers, after all. They were the ones who would have to live with it.

She shook her head in the semi-darkness and ran her hands into her hair. It was a pointless train of thought. She was no man's trophy. If they didn't both show up, she'd kick the one who did out and take pleasure in her own hands.

Even if the wait was killing her, she didn't regret her ultimatum. Doing nothing would have been worse. And in the end, the decision whether she accepted both of them or not was hers.

_Keep telling yourself that, Carter,_ that insistent voice said. _After it worked so well the first time._

Peggy pressed her fists against her ears, closed her eyes and cursed low under her breath, trying to drown out the words she knew were only too true.

When she looked up again, there were two pairs of sand-crusted combat boots standing on the rosewood-coloured carpet, clumps of wet sand slowly sliding off them.

It felt as if the Himalayas had slipped off her shoulders along with them.

She laughed as she took in their bare feet before looking up. Not even stockings. Maybe they'd had holes in them.

"I should make you go back and clean those boots. Didn't your," she started to say mothers, but didn't really want that mental picture "Didn't the drill instructors at boot camp teach you to keep your rooms neat?" At least they'd had enough wits to not leave a trail on the stairs leading to her room.

Steve stared at her as if she had spoken a language he didn't understand. Bucky gave her one of his 'aw, shucks' smiles that she knew by now were mostly a front. Neither of them moved, even though Steve looked like he was vibrating with tension. Bucky's toes were curling into the carpet. He had long, elegant feet, making her realise that even though she'd seen him bare-chested, she hadn't seen his bare feet at the hut or in Portugal.

"You're here," she said. Both of them. "That's good." She took a deep breath. "Let's – "

"Yes, please," Steve uttered. He abandoned his boots and rushed forward, lifted her up off her feet and – without giving her another warning – crushed his mouth to hers.

Peggy had thought she was prepared. Thought he'd be gentle and careful and fumbling, unsure of his footing. She'd thought she'd need to ease them into it. Blimey, had she been wrong.

Steve kissed her as if he was throwing himself into a fight that he intended to win. He licked into her mouth with a subdued moan, and she wanted to sling her legs around his waist, climb him like a tree and keep kissing him and never come up for oxygen. Instead, she braced herself against his shoulders while he held her steady, his hands large and hot through the layers of her clothes, muscles not even quivering. Christ, that show of strength made her flush with heat and kiss him back harder.

Steve jerked, his lips leaving hers on a gasp. Reluctantly, Peggy pulled back and opened her eyes. Bucky stood behind Steve. Eyes closed, he brushed his lips against the side of Steve's neck above the collar of his shirt. Peggy's breath stuttered.

Bucky opened his eyes, eyes fringed in lashes that her co-workers at Bletchley would have killed for, and found her gaze on him. He pulled away.

Peggy reached and laced her fingers with his. "Again," she murmured, and gave Bucky an encouraging smile. "Do it again."

He closed his eyes again and bent forward, not even trying for false bravado. Still terrified. Yet, he curled his fingers around Peggy's and set his lips against the nape of Steve's neck.

Steve gasped and swayed. His hand clenched around Peggy's waist, strong enough she might have bruises in the morning. She saw Bucky's other hand trailing along the side of Steve's neck to his ear. Steve moved then, with another guttural noise, and set her down. Then he turned and pulled Bucky against him, lifting him just a little as well.

Bucky took a fast breath, surged forward and then it was like being taken up by the gale force of a Taifun. Their kiss – open-mouthed, punctuated by choked-off groans from Bucky and breathless encouragement from Steve -- made Peggy's toes curl. Her head spun, her clothes were too tight, her face hot and her panties damp. 

When Steve broke away from the kiss, breathing heavy, . Peggy swallowed hard. Christ, they were gorgeous. Bucky's lips were parted as he panted for breath and Steve's were a deep, flushed pink. Despite a niggling concern at the back of her head about how to make this work, she wanted them so much it hurt: their mouths and their hands, her hands on them, all of them together, kissing, touching, taking their pleasure until they couldn't think straight anymore.

"Off," she managed to squeeze out of her too dry throat. "Clothes off, now."

The heavy clink-shuff of metal hitting wood and then fabric folding made her look up and she had to bite back on a grin. Steve, clearly in a hurry, was already down to his undershirt and was forcing open his belt, his uniform jacket and shirt thrown haphazardly across the room. Bucky was slower as he undid his shirt buttons. He sighed and shook his head as he saw Steve's clothes on the floor.

Peggy bit back a laugh and finally managed to get her stubborn tie free. "In a hurry?"

Steve turned just as she was opening the buttons over her breasts and the way he moistening his lips as he zeroed in on the small bits of skin she revealed made her mouth go even drier than before.

"If I stop – " He cleared his throat, forced his gaze away from her hands and looked her in the face, all pure, naked honesty. "I'm afraid I'm going wake up." 

To Steve's right, she saw Bucky shudder. His hands had stopped moving.

"You dreamt of this?" she asked, the teasing tone only on the surface. God knew she had.

Steve looked to her, then at Bucky. His shoulders relaxed as he shook his head. "Never that I could have… everything."

The quiet admission made Peggy's heart burst with warmth and her smile turn so wide her cheeks hurt. A look to Bucky made the smile slip. She had seen this look before.

Peggy placed her hand against Bucky's cheek and ran her thumb along the first hints of stubble on his chin to his lips, the lightest of touches. "This is real." 

She leaned forward and rested her lips against his – not a kiss yet, merely skin on skin, rooting him in the here and now, waiting until their breathing was synchronised. To her left, she heard Steve try to control his breathing to match theirs. She reached out her free hand to find his. He laced his fingers with hers and moved closer, the heat from his body soaking into her.

Peggy moved her head, just a fraction, brushed Bucky's upper lip with the slightest hint of teeth. Steve's breath hitched and he let go of her hand to run his palm up her back, to her neck, gliding under her hair, and cup the back of her head. He stroked his thumb along her neck muscles, brushed his lips against the side of first her forehead, then Bucky's, murmuring something so low under his breath that she couldn't understand it over the loud beating of her heart in her ears. The cadence of his voice though, that low rumble, slid under her skin.

A tremble went through Bucky. He exhaled and glided his lips over hers with a low hum, then captured her lower lip and touched it with a languorous hint of tongue. This was slow and meaningful as opposed to the earlier franticness and bloody hell did it make her quiver with anticipation.

Bucky gravitated closer, his hand going to her waist and pulling her closer, his lips more insistent, deepening the kiss. She adapted to the slower pace but licked into his mouth, unwilling to wait forever. He groaned when their tongues met and pulled her against him. His hand tightened against her waist, his hips searched for friction. He sucked on her tongue until she couldn't breathe, stripping small moans from both her and Steve. 

Peggy struggled free with an impatient noise. "Off. I'm not staying clothed for one minute longer."

She caught a glimpse of Steve's uniform trousers flying. The belt clinked loudly when it impacted with the door and made her wince. "Miss Haggerty's hard of hearing but she's not deaf," Peggy cautioned.

"Sorry," Steve said, looking chastised – but not for long. The moment she had her blouse open and off and the white, full-length slip underneath became fully visible, his face turned to slack-jawed admiration again. "Wow."

Peggy set her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. "Instead of staring, how about you do something, gentlemen?" 

Bucky moved first, kneeling in front of her. It was a good thing the carpet was as thick as it was, or she would have been concerned for his knees. 

He let his gaze move slowly from her toes up her legs and hips, then raised it to her face. His hands followed, sliding up from her ankles, pausing to circle his thumbs over her instep, and up over her calves to her knees. He stopped to press a light kiss to each kneecap, making her smile and reach out to run a hand through his hair. He returned the smile with a kiss to her wrist.

"I can help," Steve said, his voice rough. 

Bucky flashed a grin up at him and shook his head. "You'll wreck 'em. This is a job for a patient man." 

"To work then," she said.

Bucky's grin grew even wider. "Yes, ma'am."

Bucky unsnapped her left stocking from the garter and began to roll it down, slow and careful and deliberate. His hand paused mid-thigh, fingertips detouring to rub along the inside of her thigh, over bare, sensitive skin. 

Steve steadied Peggy when she swayed. Her eyes slipped closed and she fought a sound rising from her throat while he stepped behind her and continued to pay attention to the spot that made her knees wobbly and her head spin.

A noise of protest wrung free of her when Bucky, instead of guiding his hand higher, peeled down her other stocking. 

"Lift your arms," Bucky said, low-voiced when he was done with her stockings. His hands were on the hem of her slip and he was drawing it up her body.

She raised her arms, helped along by Steve's hands, and his breath skittered over her neck again. Bucky rose to his feet, his head so close to her front that he could sneak kisses to her belly and the valley between her breasts. An instant later, the silk fluttered to rest on the room's single chair. 

Peggy tried to shift all three of them to the bed, their movements slow and intimate like a dance. It remained an attempt, though, because Steve had taken the opportunity of Bucky being closer. He curled a hand around the back of Bucky's neck and hauled him in for a kiss with Peggy caught breathlessly between them..

They stayed claustrophobically close, until Steve pulled back from Bucky with a sound that turned into a curse. Peggy chuckled. "That would be a terrible thing to do to a camel."

She knew exactly what Steve was struggling with, had felt his left hand on her back the entire time. Impatient as he was, he'd been trying to kiss Bucky while trying to open her girdle at the same time. 

"How the hell does this contraption open? How do you breathe?"

With a snort of laughter, Peggy twisted around and gave him a little push. "It's supposed to be shaping the silhouette, so it needs to be tight." She unhooked it herself rather than wait while he kept fumbling. 

Steve gave a low growl, took the girdle from her and flung it across the room as though it had personally offended him. "Your silhouette is perfect, you don't need this anyway." He sank to his knees beside her and ran his fingertips over the red marks Peggy knew the girdle had left. "Look at what it's doing to you."

"You're very good for my ego," she said, "but it's not about whether you need it or not. It's the proper way a lady dresses."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "I don't think Steve's too fond of that kind of proper." He ghosted his fingertips first over Steve's hair, then over her belly where she knew the worst of the marks were centered. "Neither am I."

"Damn straight," Steve huffed, bent forward and peppered small, consoling kisses along the marks his fingers had explored earlier.

As nice as the attention was, she wasn't in the mood to be coddled. "Do you know what _I'm_ not fond of?" she asked Bucky.

He stopped his fingers from circling her bellybutton and looked up at her. "Hm?"

"Inequality." When he furrowed his brow in confusion, she stopped his question by reaching for his top trouser button. "You're not keeping up." Instead of continuing what she was doing, she flicked her index finger against Bucky's waistband.

"She's right," Steve said. "You're too slow." With that, he reached around Bucky's knees, tugged once, making Bucky fall back against the bed with a sound of surprise and a squeak from the wooden frame. Steve just grinned, swatted at Bucky's hands and got Bucky's trousers open and off quick as he'd shed his own..

"Careful, damn it," Bucky protested, but he didn't look as if he minded much. 

Peggy stepped around the other side of the bed to Bucky's head and bent to kiss him upside down. A low groan reverberated against her lips and she looked up. Steve was pressing kisses against Bucky's stomach, along the sparse trail of hair that arrowed toward his underwear. He mouthed against the distinct outline of Bucky's erection. Watching him, she wondered if he'd wound her up with the whole 'fondue' misunderstanding. Steve clearly knew what he was doing.

A shudder went through Bucky's entire body and in between a gasp and a groan, she made out a choked, fervent, "God in Heaven."

It was too much now, their low, urgent sounds and the look of Steve, with his eyes closed, nuzzling Bucky's erection through the thin layer of cotton and pressing open-mouthed kisses against it. She reached her hand into her own underwear, aching.

"Get – " Bucky ground out. He drew a huge breath. His lips were sinfully swollen, his pupils so large they nearly swallowed his iris. "Get up here. Take your damn underpants off."

Peggy stepped out of her underpants, then unhooked her bra and threw it on the pile of clothes on the chair. She climbed on the bed with Bucky. He surprised her by taking hold of her thighs and positioning her so she was facing Steve while almost straddling Bucky's face. 

"Everything off," she demanded from Steve while she still had command over her voice. 

Steve complied without hesitation. Bucky lifted his hips just as obediently.

"Kiss him." 

She was going to want her share of him as well, but right now, she wanted to watch Bucky's dick slip past Steve's lips. The idea alone made her inner muscles clench.

Under her, Bucky swore and declared, "Not going to forget about you," spread her thighs a little wider and touched his tongue to her clit.

Peggy fell forward to her arms with a gasp. Bucky worked his tongue against her in small, teasing licks that turned her muscles to liquid. He tightened his hands around her thighs and his gasp and curse blew cooler air against her clit. The more Steve hollowed his cheeks, the more laboured Bucky's breathing grew, the more frantically his tongue moved against her. It was a painful edge he kept her teetering on, near the verge of an orgasm but never quite there.

"Use your bloody fingers, man, I need something inside me," Peggy blurted.

Steve looked up at her and managed to smirk around Bucky's dick in his mouth. 

Bucky had recovered his wits thanks to Steve's momentary distraction and managed to flick his tongue against her clit while pressing a finger into her at the same time.

The world burst into flame behind her eyes. The orgasm caught her by surprise, racing through her like lightning and she keened with it, lowering herself onto Bucky's tongue and finger and riding him, coaxing him to go faster, deeper, give her more just so it wouldn't stop. He tried to match her, but at some point, he sank back with a groan and a choked, "Steve, Steve, God!" She opened her eyes just in time to see Steve with his cheeks hollowed, pressing his hand against Bucky's hipbones to keep him from thrusting up. Steve groaned low and urgent as well, and Bucky came, his thumb crooking inside her as his orgasm hit him, pushing Peggy close to another but not quite getting her there.

Steve was breathing hard, resting his forehead against Bucky's hipbone; his throat still worked as he swallowed. Had he come as well, just from blowing Bucky?

Bucky's finger slipped out of her, exhausted, and she wanted to shout her frustration. Were they both out of commission now? Bloody hell. She moved from the awkward crouch over his body, sat on the rumpled sheet and pulled her knees against her chest.

"Shh, have a little faith," Bucky murmured. He reached out and stroked her shin. "Just give me a few seconds."

His chest lifted and dipped as he recovered his breath. A mischievous smile began to curl at the corners of his mouth as he considered Peggy and then Steve. She could see him working out how to get them where he wanted them. She could see the bright, happy man he'd once been, the laughing man Steve had described. He caressed her hand, fingers trailing up to stroke along her pulse point.

"You're an inspiration," he declared cheekily, then turned to Steve. "Sit up for me, Steve. Sit back against the headboard," Bucky ordered Steve and, much to Peggy's surprise, Steve complied without questioning. "Keep your legs together and straight."

Steve did and she saw that his cock was standing at full attention. Her throat turned dry. God, she wanted him inside of her. Now.

"Kneel on the bed, your back to him," Bucky told her, and, just like Steve, she complied, both curious and turned on beyond thinking by the tone of his voice and his intense gaze. She heard the tell-tale sound of a condom wrapper being opened and Steve's quiet gasp when Bucky rolled it on.

Steve skated his hand over her back, backbone to nape, scratching lightly and she felt her spine turn liquid. 

"Straddle his legs, then move back."

Oh. Oh, she saw where this was going. 

"Steve, guide her down. Slowly."

"To hell with slowly," Peggy said, looking at Steve over her shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded and his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black. "I want your cock inside of me, Steve. I want your hands on my breasts and I want you to not be gentle. And Bucky's head between my legs while I ride you so hard you'll see stars."

Steve slammed his eyes shut and grasped her hips roughly, pulling her against him so her arse rested against his cock. She kissed him despite the awkward angle, murmuring against his lips, "The moment I'm hurting you, you say stop." This position could be very painful for him if she was too enthusiastic. "The last thing I want to be known for is as the woman who broke America's most expensive cock." She grinned at him and he guffawed, then started to laugh so hard the bed began to vibrate. Sitting at the edge of the bed, Bucky joined in the laughter, a full belly laugh, and Peggy thought that she'd never seen either of them more beautiful than in this moment.

She used the distraction to move into position and sink down on Steve's cock. The laughter died in his throat and turned into a long, drawn out moan. His hands came around to cup her breasts, squeezing without finesse and pulling her against his chest.

"Oh, God," she uttered as he filled her, his width bordering on painful but hitting just the right spots inside of her. "Yes." She gyrated against him, taking her pleasure into her own hands.

Bucky didn't need an invitation. Smart man that he was, he bent over and kissed his way down from Steve's knuckles to her navel and her pubic line, his hands caressing her thighs and Steve's.

Behind her, Steve strained to look over her shoulder to see what Bucky was doing. "God, you're so beautiful. Both, so… "

Peggy turned her head and kissed him quiet, thrust down against him just as Bucky reached her clit and licked once, tongue cool-wet-silky against her swollen flesh, then sucked, hard.

Her orgasm coiled deep within her, turned her into a live wire while Steve made low sounds of encouragement and thrust fast and shallow into her and Bucky licked and sucked on her clit. Steve's hand rested on Bucky's head, fingernails scraping against Bucky's scalp, Bucky hummed against her… Peggy arched up with a choked off gasp, the long, bright-white orgasm unexpected, fast, all-encompassing, slamming through her entire body and driving out every thought.

She was only dimly aware of Steve following her.

When she came back, Bucky was still giving her little teasing licks that were bordering on painful now that she was oversensitive.

"Shhh," she squeezed out of her dry throat and ran a shaky hand over his head, urging him to stop. She encountered Steve's hand still there as well and laced their fingers, gliding them to Bucky's cheek.

Bucky rested his other cheek against her hipbone, his sweat mingling with hers. His breath went through her curls, teasing at her senses. Steve, breath see-sawing out of him, peppered small kisses along her shoulder and continued to gently run his thumb just under her breast.

"I think you killed me," Peggy said eventually. She was only too aware of how wrecked she sounded.

"But you died happy?" Steve asked, a chuckle in his voice.

She squeezed her inner muscles around him and enjoyed the little jolt and gasp he gave. "Very."

Bucky lifted a hand in an unhappy wave. "Could somebody please kill me as well?"

He rolled onto his back, providing Peggy with a picture she'd keep in her memories; the long line of his torso, his chest lifting with each breath, sharp cut muscles and sharper hipbones, long, toned legs. His erection had returned, hard and flushed, rising from the nest of brown hair at his groin. The light from the oil lamp painted his skin in gilt and shadow, a Caravaggio chiaroscuro. He tipped his head back, arching his throat and neck, so he could look back at her upside down. 

Peggy smiled at him and caressed his cheek with her fingertips, taking Steve's hand along.

"Stevie, some help here," Bucky said and gestured to his groin. "Peggy's being cruel."

Peggy's smile turned into a grin she knew was wolfish. "Cruel? Moi?" She untangled her hand from Steve's and circled her index finger around Bucky's lips. "I think this one has too much energy," she said, conversationally. "How about you wear him out for us, Steve?" 

Steve's dick inside of her gave a renewed twitch. This hadn't been in Erskine's report and, damn, was she glad. She wasn't sure if she'd ever have been able to get that information out of her head. Under no circumstances was she ready for another round just yet, though. She lifted her hips up and slid off Steve, who gave a little huff of disappointment.

"Some of us need to recover," she said. "But… " Peggy pressed her index finger a little more against Bucky lips. "I'd quite like to watch you two while I do." 

"Can you wear that silk robe hanging by the door?" Steve asked, voice low and warm against her neck. "And leave it untied?"

Peggy turned around to see the faintest hint of a blush colouring his cheeks. No shame, though, and she loved that. Loved that once he'd made a decision, Steve was there all the way, down to the unexpected details.

"You'll be sexier than any Renoir painting," Bucky murmured, warm breath brushing her belly.

Without warning, Steve lifted Peggy like she weighed nothing, rolling to sit and set her on her feet. She dipped forward to steal a kiss that he returned with enthusiasm, until Bucky poked a finger against her ribs and said, "Hey!"

"Just warming him up for you," she said with a smile, then padded over to the door, very aware of Steve's and Bucky's gazes following her. Just to hear the choked sound she knew Steve would make, she gave her hips a little extra swing. 

Peggy was glad that Steve had asked her to wear the robe. It was her favourite, a gift Lizzie had brought her from Singapore, pale cream silk hand-painted with peonies and hummingbirds. It was oddly appropriate to have Lizzie here in mind, she mused as she slipped into the robe and ran her fingers over the cool silk. 

She leaned her head back to shake out her hair and tried to finger-comb it into presentability. Probably hopeless after Steve had run his hands through it several times, but she didn't want to wake up with it completely tangled in knots in the morning. Suddenly aware that she wasn't hearing any sounds from the bed behind her, she looked over her shoulder to see both men staring at her with rapt attention. 

"You should be closer," Steve said. He sounded slightly hoarse. "So you can see better."

Bucky closed his eyes, a light flush spreading over his cheekbones.

"Steve?" she said, turning around fully.

"Yeah?"

Good Lord, that wide-eyed look was going to be her downfall one day. But if she was swayed by it now, she'd never hear and see the end of it. "I will be where I want, when I want."

The corners of Bucky's mouth twitched. 

"Besides, I think that Bucky is feeling neglected. I suggest you attend to what is important."

Bucky snorted a laugh. "You tell him, Peggy."

"Less talking. More kissing. Chop, chop."

Steve proved to be much better at following instructions in the bedroom than he was in the field. He pulled Bucky flush against him and kissed him and Bucky responded with the intensity of a man who didn't know if he'd ever have the chance to do this again.

Steve, as though sensing some of the desperation in Bucky's movements, slowed the kiss. He traced Bucky's ear with his fingertips, running his index finger along the outside of it, then to his temple, cupping his hand along the side of Bucky's face. It was so gentle that Peggy had to swallow around a sudden lump in her throat.

The old chair gave a little squeak when she sat down on it and Bucky froze, as though remembering that he and Steve weren't alone. He stopped kissing Steve and moved to look at her while Steve, his eyes closed, mouthed at Bucky's jawline and neck, making him shudder. Half-lidded and visibly fighting the urge to succumb to Steve's ministrations, he met her gaze.

For a fraction of a second, Peggy was concerned that he was uncomfortable with her being there, but before that thought could fully take hold, he mouthed a silent, "Thank you," at her before he went back to kissing Steve. 

Peggy smiled, even as she moved to cross her legs to alleviate the way her clit swelled with renewed interest. She'd had no concerns about Steve, there were no double meanings with him and he had no poker face, but Bucky, too, was willing to share this with her. That knowledge was both a relief and an incredible turn-on.

Bucky was slim and wiry against Steve's now bigger, more muscled build; his long fingers spanned the golden tint of Steve's skin, gliding over his back, flexing and unflexing, kneading. She wondered briefly if that was odd for Bucky, who was used to a much smaller Steve.

They slowed for a second, breathing heavily, just looking at one another. Peggy imagined their cocks slotted together and felt the familiar, hollow ache between her legs. She did nothing, though, except to take the silk belt off her robe and run it between her fingers.

Steve stretched his neck to give Bucky better access and Bucky used the offering to suck a bloom of red to the side of it. Steve's eyes, first open in surprised shock and a slight frown of pain, rolled back in his head and his lips opened on another deep moan. He didn't seem bothered by Bucky's attempt at marking him. It would be gone by the morning anyway, and Peggy had a feeling that was the only reason Bucky tried it. Leave a mark, even a temporary one.

She saw the muscles in Steve's arms and legs flex just before he moved. He flipped Bucky to his back and Bucky went down with a surprised gasp, his kiss-swollen mouth slightly open, his eyes half-lidded and so bloody gorgeous.

Over the rushing of blood in her ears, she almost missed the quietly uttered, "Peggy."

She leaned forward in her chair. "What is it?" She barely recognised her own voice.

"Come here," Bucky whispered. He was still rocking up against Steve, eyes falling closed time and time again as a look of painful bliss shadowed his face.

She did, aware of the robe falling open now that she'd worried the belt enough the knot had come undone.

"Closer, please." Bucky reached out for her, pulled her in for a short, fierce kiss and then whispered against her lips, "The belt."

"Hm?"

"The belt. Give it to Steve."

Oh. Well, wasn't this interesting.

"God, you're stunning," Steve said, reaching out a hand to brush back some of the silk from her left breast. He circled her areola with his thumb and she shivered.

"Shush," she said. She caught his hand and kissed his fingertips, even though she wanted nothing more than for him to continue. "It's Bucky's turn." She threaded the belt between Steve's fingers and turned toward Bucky. "What now?" She had an idea, but he needed to be the one to say it.

"Yeah, Buck, what now?"

That flush spread over Bucky's face again. He looked away from Steve, away from her, at something on the floor. "Can you… " he stopped and swallowed. Took a deep breath and continued, barely audible. "Tie it behind my head. Cover my eyes."

*******

**Steve**

He shuddered, suspended between wanting and refusing to bind Bucky in any way. Why would he want to be blindfolded? Part of Steve rebelled against the idea, but if that was what Bucky wanted, denying him would be unfair. He just didn't like the idea of Bucky being at their mercy, even though they only had the best intentions for him.

"Lift your head," Peggy said to Bucky, and Bucky complied, eyes still closed. It made the tendons in his neck and his stomach muscles stand out. 

Steve moved up on the bed, took the belt between both hands. Before he placed it on Bucky's head, he hesitated, his doubts getting the better of him. "Buck."

Bucky swallowed, eyes still closed, his adam's apple bobbing. "Yeah?"

This just wasn't right. "Look at me, please."

Bucky opened his eyes again, winter-blue half-hidden under long lashes. "What?"

"The moment you're uncomfortable, you let me know, okay?"

"Let us know," Peggy interjected.

"You worry too much," Bucky said, but it sounded like false bravado. "Get going, or I'll lose my hard-on."

Peggy lips pulled back from her teeth in a smirk. "I think I have a way to stop that from happening." She moved out of Steve's line of sight. 

A second later, Bucky dropped his head back on the pillow with a shuddered groan and a laugh. "Oh, you play dirty."

Steve glanced over his shoulder to see Peggy bent over Bucky, her hair sliding across his groin, her lips close to Bucky's dick. His jaw dropped just a little.

"Steve, focus," she admonished. As if to torture him and Bucky at the same time, she licked her hand and curled it around Bucky dick while blowing a stream of air across the tip of it. 

Bucky shuddered, head pressed into the pillow. "Steve."

All right. "Lift your head again," Steve said, then quickly tied the warm silk around Bucky's head, covering his eyes. He bent forward to kiss Bucky and, after a small twitch of surprise, Bucky reciprocated the kiss, deep and hungry, making Steve lose track of time.

The tickling of soft hair against his shoulder and Bucky's twitch where it must have touched him as well brought Steve back. He pulled back and opened his eyes. Peggy had settled beside Steve. Without the belt, her robe gaped open, offering all her pale skin and curves, tempting him to just look, to reach out and rub one rose-coloured nipple through the cool silk and watch it tighten.

She shook her head at him when she saw his gaze, though, indicating her chin toward Bucky. Steve understood without needing to ask.

He kissed Bucky's bent knee, something he'd always wanted to do: kiss Bucky's bloody knees, to soothe him, soothe all the little scars and marks of a life shared, a map of knowing him. 

"Shh, we've got you," he murmured when Bucky twitched. He kissed Bucky's knuckles that had been skinned and bruised so many times, defending him. 

Bucky breathed faster, chest rising and falling.

After the first two kisses, he began to narrate all of Bucky's good deeds to Peggy, showing her pieces of Bucky and the past. She smiled at him and began to kiss and caress each mark as Steve pointed them out.

Steve pressed his hand firmly against Bucky's hip, making it clear that he wouldn't tickle or tease. Then he bent forward and kissed just shy of Bucky's navel. "This is for when you burned yourself on the stove keeping your sister from falling on it."

Bucky huffed out a breath, probably both annoyed and amused. Steve smiled and moved higher, just under Bucky's ribcage. He paid special attention to the puckered scar.

"This is for this bullet scar I first saw when we all went skinny-dipping in that stream in Italy... "

Bucky squirmed and Peggy made a soothing noise, gently pressing down against his hips. When Bucky settled a little, she began to pepper kisses along his skin, starting with his hand and moving up his wrist to his elbow, his bicep.

When she reached chest level, Peggy stopped, placed both hands on Bucky's chest, just under his heart and pressed a kiss to it, whispering, "This is for Portugal."

Bucky tensed beneath Steve, legs shifting restlessly, and fingers tightened on the sheets. The white silk around his head made him look so vulnerable. Steve had to take a breath to steady himself. As if the added oxygen lifted some veil, he looked at Bucky again. Despite the tension Steve had mistaken for arousal, his erection had gone down.

He glanced up to where Peggy had pushed back from Bucky as well. Her gaze flickered to the blindfold and she pursed her lips and gave a shake of her head, clearly realising the same thing Steve had.

"You know," she said conversationally to Bucky, keeping her hands in firm but light contact with his skin. "I think it's a bloody shame you can't see how Steve looks at you." 

It made no sense to blush, but Steve felt his cheeks warm nevertheless.

Peggy trailed her hands toward Bucky's wrists and his hands. "And to be honest, I know my breasts are quite something to write home about. I'm not sure the girls like that you're not looking at them."

Steve spluttered, "No one better be writing about your breasts," and Bucky drew a deep breath, chuckling, visibly calmer. Peggy's tactic seemed to work.

"Do you disagree, Steven?"

"Hell, no," Steve hurried to say, even though he knew it was less for Peggy's benefit than for Bucky's. "You're missing out, Buck."

Steve leaned closer and reached for Bucky's head. The silk slid away from Bucky's face immediately and he sighed. Steve felt him relax even before he blinked his eyes open.

He kissed him, gentle but fierce. "Let's never do that again, okay?"

Bucky nodded. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Next time, just tell us sooner, okay?" Peggy said, leaning in to brush a kiss against Bucky's lips as well. "There are plenty more things we can try before we get bored."

"Next time." Bucky smiled. He was shaking the remnants of tension quickly, reaching for Peggy's hair and curling a strand around his index finger. "I like the sound of that."

"Of course, next time. You don't think I'm through with you two, do you?"

Steve wanted to whoop. He loved that she just spoke her mind without any of the 'proper' filters.

"As a matter of fact… " Peggy leaned closer, her hair sliding against Bucky's chest first, then her breasts.

Bucky's eyes closed on a low groan, he stretched his neck back and Peggy was right there, licking and kissing along Bucky's bared neck, eliciting gasps, moans and low hums of pleasure from him and meeting them with her own. It looked as though Peggy knew just the right buttons to push to get Bucky out of his head. 

God, they were beautiful together. Steve could paint them over and over, pressed together so intimately, and never grow tired.

Unable to stop himself from touching, Steve reached out and ran his hand along Peggy's curved spine, from nape to her fantastic ass.

Bucky had opened his legs at some point and Peggy had slid between them in a weird and wonderful reversal of the missionary position. It gave Steve the chance to pay special attention to the insides of Bucky's thighs, though, make him gasp and squirm and murmur nonsensical things under his breath.

Just when he moved his hand to touch Peggy again, she stopped nibbling at Bucky's neck and shot him a glare. "One more teasing touch, and I'll slay you."

He gave her his best innocent look. "You don't like it?"

"Don't play coy, Steve, I know you too well."

He fought a snort of amusement and heard Bucky do the same.

"So you don't like it."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm trying to stop myself from climbing on Bucky and riding him like a prize horse as it is. You're making it worse."

Bucky gave a helpless chuckle. "You're _stopping_ yourself? Why? I mean, _why_ the _hell_?"

Steve wondered the same thing. 

Peggy turned back to Bucky, a slow smile on her lips. She let her hair brush across his chest again and murmured, "I wanted to make sure I had your full attention first."

Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his skull. "Mission accomplished."

Peggy's smile turned wolfish. "In that case… " she looked over her shoulder at Steve and indicated the condom on the nightstand. "The honours are all yours."

She rolled to the side, then to her back to make room. Steve reached over to the nightstand to get the condom, but he just couldn't _not_ stop and kiss her breasts, taste those perfectly formed nipples. Bucky, too, seemed to be unwilling to stop touching her, touching Steve, because he trailed his hand first over Steve's side and then to Peggy's stomach, dipping lower to thread into her curls and find her clit.

She twitched, hard, and pushed his hand away. "Not yet."

Bucky gave an exaggerated pout but set his hand back on her skin, moving slowly from her stomach to her breasts, the quiet sound of his fingertips sliding against her skin loud in Steve's ears. Peggy had closed her eyes and tilted her head back just a little, mouth open while Bucky had inched closer and begun to kiss his way from her upper arm to her breast, lavishing attention on her nipple. A flush went across Peggy's cheeks and her low moan mingled with Bucky's breathless sounds of adoration. God, they were so lovely together. 

Peggy snapped her fingers in front of his face. "You're stalling, _Captain_."

Steve blinked and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. "Will you follow my lead?" An idea began to form, but he didn't want to take either of them by surprise and risk alienating them.

"Depends on whether we like the lead," Peggy answered. "Right, Bucky?" She, too, curled her hand around the back of Bucky's head, but she used it to guide him away from her breast and up to kiss her again.

"Oh," he said around a suddenly very dry throat. "I think you will. Sit up, Peggy."

Peggy raised one sculpted eyebrow but complied, her legs dangling over the side of the bed, red-painted nails resting against the rumpled white sheet to one side of her and lightly scratching over Bucky's thigh on the other. "Now what?"

"Now this." Steve got up off the bed, very aware of Bucky and Peggy watching him both, walked around to Peggy's side and rested his hands on her waist, lifting, turning and setting her down again so she was facing Bucky.

Peggy drew a surprised breath but didn't complain. This close, her heady scent was even stronger than before – her hair, her warm skin, the remnants of her perfume mingling with fresh sweat… it was hard to keep with his plan and not follow his urge to sink into her himself. But no, no. This was Bucky's time with Peggy.

Bucky watched them both with wide eyes, swallowed, moistened his lips and rasped, "Tell us."

Steve felt his palms grow damp and his heart begin to race. It felt odd, but he'd started this, he was damn well going to see it through.

"Bucky, you'll stay exactly as you are. Lie back, keep your hands on the sheets for now and just watch."

Bucky's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He rested his hands, palm down, on the sheets and just lifted his head.

"Peggy, when I pick you up again, bend your knees, pull your feet to your ass," he swallowed against a dry throat, "then spread your legs."

Peggy's breathing picked up. He couldn't see her face, only a small shiver than ran over her.

"Ready?"

"Yes," she said, her voice lower than before.

"Buck, when I lift her, I want you to get one hand on your dick."

Bucky nodded his understanding, eyes wide.

Steve wasn't being overly creative in what he was doing, but the mere idea of guiding Peggy on Bucky, of controlling exactly how fast she would move and how long he could draw out her climax and Bucky's as well… God, he ran a real danger of coming from just that. 

He lifted Peggy up by her waist, and, beautifully nimble, she did exactly as he'd asked. Her heels brushed the fronts of his thighs, stirring up hair against the grain. Bucky had gripped his dick and watched them both, lips open and eyes dark as the night. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten in his head. Fuck, but he wanted them both.

He set his lips against Peggy's shoulder and murmured low, "I'm going to set you down on Bucky's dick now. Real slow." He lowered her a bit. She shivered, hard. "I'll let you get used to him, feel how wide he is." 

Bucky's eyes rolled back in his head and his hand squeezed his dick. "God, Steve."

"Just do it already," Peggy said, throaty and low. Her scent had changed into something sharper, earthier. 

"I'll just let you kiss his dick first," he murmured, even lower than before. "Like so." Positioning her over Bucky's dick, he lowered her just enough that he heard her slick folds part and both Bucky and Peggy gasp. Peggy's stomach muscles fluttered. Her toes twitched against him.

"But not too long." He lifted her up again, ignoring the sound of protest that wrung free of her. "You want to enjoy this, don't you?"

"I want to kill you when this is done," Peggy squeezed out from between clenched teeth. She didn't shake off his hands, though, which was interesting. 

Steve smirked and brushed a kiss against Peggy's shoulder. 

"I'll help you," Bucky rasped. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his upper lip.

"I look forward to it, but for now, how about a more intimate welcome?" He lowered Peggy again, lower than before.

"Ngh."

"Steve," Peggy began.

"Too much?" He lifted her again.

" _No_ , damn it."

"Maybe you need to tell me what you want."

"I will take you apart, Steven Rogers. Inch by inch. Set me down on his dick again or let go of me and let me ride him myself."

"Can't make that decision by myself," God, it was fun riling her up. "What do you say, Buck?"

"I say one day, in a meeting with Phillips, I'm gonna grab your dick under the table and tease you until you want to cry and you won't be able to move one muscle in your face."

Steve's dick gave a very interested twitch. "Yeah?"

"Oh, no, he'd _like_ that!" Peggy exclaimed. "Steve, set me down. Move. Do something."

He gave Bucky a wink. "Well, if you both agree."

He lowered Peggy on Bucky's dick, half inch by half inch, then lifted her again, first slowly, then more and more quickly until both Peggy and Bucky were groaning in unison and breathing as though they'd just run a marathon. He listened for the tell-tale changes in Bucky's breathing that told him he was close, then lifted Peggy off him with one swift move.

"Bloody hell! No, no, you don't," Peggy said, sounding furious and debauched at the same time. "Let go of me right now, Steve."

He did and as soon as his hands left her, Peggy leaned forward and kissed Bucky, rough and demanding as though she were drowning and he were the only source of oxygen.

Steve sat back on his haunches and kept his hand in touch with her spine, her ass. She didn't shake his touch, leaned into it instead when she bent back and changed the angle of Bucky's dick inside her. She began to rise and fall, riding Bucky first slow, then ever quicker.

Bucky ran his hands up her sides and to her breasts, cupped them roughly and started to squeeze them. What he was doing didn't look gentle, but Peggy didn't seem to mind in the least. 

From his position behind them, it was easy for Steve to run an experimental finger over the soft skin behind Bucky's balls. The reaction was immediate; Bucky sucked in air and his balls drew up tight and as if it finally registered that he could move as well, he aimed a stuttering thrust into Peggy. Whatever spot he hit made Peggy give a sharp gasp.

"Fuck," Bucky breathed. He sounded wrecked, his voice rough and lower than usual. The sound glided underneath Steve's skin, leaving heat in its wake.

Peggy gulped in a deep breath and changed her position, then leaned back so that she was arched toward Steve and supported herself by leaning back against Bucky's calves. 

Steve had enough of watching and choreographing. He didn't want to be a voyeur; he wanted to be a part. He moved to their side and brought himself back to their attention by circling and pressing his thumb and index finger against Peggy's clit while licking at Bucky's nipple at the same time.

Judging from the frown on Peggy's face, her climax danced just out of reach. Steve watched Peggy chase it, beautifully selfish and reckless, riding Bucky harder and faster still.

Bucky was shaking, so close, but Steve saw him fight it for her. Her hands were leaving bruises on his thighs, and Bucky's hands were leaving bruises on her hip, but Peggy looked as though she couldn't care less. She leaned a little farther back, her spine a perfect bow and gasped, "Steve, your mouth," and Steve complied, set his mouth against her clit and sucked, hard. Bucky thrust up, Peggy thrust down, Steve let his tongue flick against her clit, quick and teasing and – 

"There, yes, there – "

Steve felt and heard Peggy fall over the edge. Her back arched, her entire body quaked, she keened under her breath and Steve circled his tongue against her clit quicker, wondering, maybe, if he could draw the pleasure out for her. 

She slowed down finally despite his attention, while under her, Bucky's moves became frantic and erratic. He thrust up into her with abandon now and Steve renewed his ministrations while rubbing his own dick against the sheets. Over the rushing of blood in his ears, Steve heard Bucky fight a sound, felt him give one final snap of his hips, and then his entire body stilled and a quiet, broken noise escaped his throat. Against Steve's mouth, Peggy arched one last time as well.

It was only when he felt both their hands settle on his head to run lightly through his hair that he came as well.

*******

**Peggy**

The sheets were unsalvageable. She'd have to dispose of them in the morning and tell Mrs. McHaggerty that her monthly had arrived early. For now, she didn't want to move one inch, except to rest her cheek against Bucky's and listen to the racing of his heart, to feel Steve against her side.

Tendrils of Bucky's hair were glued to his temples, almost black, his mouth opened a little, and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. It would be perfect to just lie here, with him still inside of her, his hands brushing over her spine, chasing little aftershocks and clenching her inner muscles around him. He gave out the most delicious little groans.

Every moment she stayed longer increased the risk of the condom slipping off, though, so she slid loose from him, reluctantly.

Steve was there straight away, making sure the condom stayed on until she was curled into Bucky's side with Bucky's arm around her and his hand on her hip, her own breath coming hard still, almost shivering hot in the aftermath. 

Together, they watched as Steve tied off the condom and then rose from the bed to dispose of it in the fireplace, unselfconsciously nude, muscles rolling under his skin, the firelight accentuating his perfect arse. 

Peggy rested her hand on Bucky's belly and brushed a kiss against his chest, feeling her hair slide against him. It was a truly tangled mess now, but Bucky didn't seem to see or care: he just brushed it away from her face when their eyes meet for a second and they smiled at each other before turning back to watching Steve. 

Steve put out the lamp and all there was left was moonlight. He came back to the bed, picked up the duvet and the pillows from the floor and lay down on the bed on Bucky's other side, pulling it over them. 

In the dark, his face thrown into sharp relief by the bright moonlight filtering into the room, Bucky asked. "What now?" His voice was quiet enough it seemed as if he was asking himself the question, not them.

"Now we sleep," she said.

She felt Bucky's abdomen tense under her hand and brushed her thumb over it in what she hoped was a consoling manner. She wasn't exactly good at being nurturing. Never had been.

"That's not what you were asking, was it?"

The quiet rustling sound indicated that Bucky was shaking his head.

"I've been making plans since the moment I could use my brain again. I wasn't sure you were ready to hear them."

"Go ahead," Bucky murmured. "Tell me your plans for us."

Steve did, talking about what they would do during the rest of the war, how they would meet and where and how they could make time and distract the others. Peggy laughed and corrected him when his getaway plans and meeting places began to be too unlikely.

Bucky snorted on occasion, amused by their antics, but stayed quiet otherwise. When Peggy looked at his face after several minutes had passed, she saw his eyes closed, a smile on his face that was melancholy and unfitting of the happiness Steve was radiating.

Peggy suppressed a shiver. She'd seen this look before.

Bucky was pretending and Steve… she wasn't sure if he really was blinded by sex and happiness or if he didn't want to see, _couldn't_ see, what she saw.

She curled her hand around Bucky's side, moving closer to him.

He covered her hand with his, stroked her fingers and shook his head at her; the tiniest of motions. Let him, the gesture said. Let him pretend.

"We'll meet again here when the war is over. I think we owe Mrs. McHaggerty some new sheets," Steve was saying. "In fact, let's make it a pact. We'll go dancing down on the beach and then we'll come back here and then we'll owe her a new bed on top of the new sheets."

Oh, it was a such a pretty fantasy.

Steve smiled, bright and happy and Peggy realised that she wanted to believe along with him, just the way Bucky did. She knew better, but in this warm moment, with Steve's enthusiasm and conviction shining bright enough to light the night, she wanted to believe that they had a chance of keeping true to this pact of his.

Bucky lifted her hand and moved it toward Steve's. 

Steve laced his fingers with hers and Bucky's.

"It's a pact."


	13. XIII. London, 3rd March 1945

**XIII.**

**London, 3rd March 1945**

**Peggy**

The news of Bucky's death reached her in the middle of a meeting with Colonel Phillips and other high-ranking military. Hours later, she didn't know how she managed to only show a moderate amount of emotion that befitted losing a soldier she knew.

Images of Bucky accosted her, asleep in the Alps, looking peaceful, desperate and confused in Portugal, smiling and happy in Margate. She wanted to shout her denial. They were all supposed to cheat death. They'd made a _pact_. It couldn't be. Not him. Anyone else, but not him. 

"They captured Dr. Zola," PFC Pertwee said and Peggy pushed her chair back.

She was going to kill him. Slowly. Cruelly. After extracting all the information the swine had. "I want to — "

"No, Carter," Phillips interrupted her and, for a split second, the rage welling up inside of her was so strong she wanted to leap across the table and ram her fist into his face. The only thing stopping her was her mother's upbringing, that disapproving voice at the back of her head: _Pull yourself together, Margaret Carter. Not in front of people._

Fingernails biting into her palms, she squeezed out between clenched teeth, "Sir, with all due respect – "

"Barnes was one of mine," Phillips said, interrupting her again. Through the haze of her own anger, she saw the muscles in his jaw tense and his mouth in a thin line. The sentence hung over the table for several blinks of an eye. " _I'm_ taking Zola."

He waved Pertwee and the rest of the officers out. "You need to take care of Rogers. Don't let him go off the rails. We still need him."

_She_ needed him to go on. Schmidt couldn't get away, and, by God, she wanted to be there with Steve to take revenge. It was that feeling that drowned out her sorrow.

Two days later, the Steve crashed the Valkyrie in the ice.


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Fowey, Cornwall, May 1945**

**Peggy**

A blackbird sang, loud and happy, mingling with the crowing of the rooster and the sleepy clucking of the chicken, while Peggy slipped out of the house and walked into the meadow just outside the farm.

The early morning sun bathed the rolling, green hills around the farm in a rosy pink, not yet warming the morning but promising that today, the lilies of the valley would open their blossoms after they'd been cowering against the strong winds.

Several sheep grazed near the path, giving her a wary look, then sprinting away when she came closer. 

It was cold. She didn't mind. She hadn't been warm since the war ended.

On foot from the train station five miles away, just a small suitcase in her hand, she'd thought about telling Lizzie and Fin everything once she made it to the manor house. It had taken her knocking on the front door and being greeted by an unknown woman to remember that Lizzie had written that Fin had given the manor house to the Crown to be used as an orphanage. Lizzie, Fin and Mikaela were living in the country house a mile away from the main manor. She'd walked rather than let the matron call them. Their welcome had been warm, but Lizzie's and Fin's wish to celebrate the end of the war and the fact that she'd made it out alive had nearly driven her out of the house the first night. 

Since then, they'd been careful of her, sensing how brittle she felt and trying to give her space.

Mikaela was the one who found her the first morning, sitting on a farm fence, staring out over the fields. She'd brought Peggy a cup of tea and had stayed beside her, not saying anything until the tea was finished and the ceramic in Peggy's hand had turned cold again.

"When I want to think, I like going to the brook," Mikaela had told her. "The old willow tree is a lovely spot to be alone. The sheep like it there and Lizzie is as afraid of them as she is of the cows."

Peggy wanted to tell them, get it off her chest, share the burden that weighed her down, but so much of it was classified – how could she explain without compromising military secrets? How could she talk about losing _both_ her lovers?

She'd kept silent and tried to help around the farm instead in gratitude when no one asked why she'd come so far, why she wasn't with her family, what had happened to nearly break her.

She headed for the brook Mikaela had mentioned. Lizzie had had that mulish look on her face the night before, like her patience for Peggy's moping had reached its end.

Unthinking, she picked up a small rock lying next to the path leading up to the large weeping willow and turned it in her hands.

It all seemed so normal out here. So peaceful. The world continued, spring having already breathed life into the once barren trees, fresh green grass covering up the brown remainders of last year's growth. The birds dipped into the meadows, rising above them again, singing happily, untouched by her anger, her grief. The world went on, unfazed, filled with joy. 

The brook's water splashed in a small geyser when the rock hit it. No. Life couldn't just go on. Not as if nothing had happened. She picked up another rock and threw it in the water. Again. Again. Harder.

Everyone was talking about Steve, about Captain America's disappearance. Colonel Phillips had called it a heroic sacrifice and Peggy had wanted, again, to hit him, because it was nothing but Steve being bull-headed, giving up because he hadn't held on to Bucky. Yes, he'd saved a city. He'd given up on the rest of his life, however. Their life. Her.

No thought spared for Peggy, for her pain, for leaving her behind to mourn them both. It was selfish, and cowardly, and she wanted to hate him for it while at the same time, she missed him, missed them, so much it was hard to breathe.

Everyone was talking about Captain America, and no one but the Howling Commandos even spared a thought for Bucky. Even Phillips seemed to have forgotten him. Peggy hurled another rock into the brook, watching it splash and sink through the clear water. It barely stirred up the silt at the bottom. Bucky's sacrifice had been just as big as Steve's and he should be remembered the way Steve was.

She picked up another stone, another and another, throwing it into the water, tearing out clumps of grass with the roots when she ran out of stones to throw, fighting against the scream that began to climb up in her throat. She stared at the brook, gulping in deep breaths. The damn water just cleared away the mud and the dirt, washing the spot where she stood clean as if nothing had happened. 

None of them should be gone. They should both be here. Bucky, who always had the air around him of someone who knew he wouldn't survive the war, tentative and careful. Steve with his fantastic ideals and resolute loyalty. They should be _here_ , seeing the beauty of the British countryside and finally relaxing, knowing that the war was over. Bucky should have made it, he deserved to, he should have been right beside Steve, balancing him while he planned for the bright future ahead of the three of them, happily ignoring all the problems she'd known they'd face. They should have been with _her_.

Dirt dug under her nails when she tore out more grass. A nail tore as she tried to pry loose another rock to throw.

More memories came floating back. 

Zola's damn grin and that sibilant mockery of a condolence: _'Sergeant Barnes was quite... extraordinary. I looked forward to meeting him again. Such a loss – '_ Gabe leaping forward, his face tear-streaked, ramming Zola against the wall, shouting that Bucky was better off dead than in Zola's hands.

Phillips going between them, stone-faced, ordering Gabe to stand down. 

Herself, wanting to hurt Zola with every fibre of her being.

Dum-Dum so awkwardly trying to offer her a hug after Steve'd put the plane in the water, unabashed tears in his eyes. He'd smelled of cool wool and sweat and cigarettes and Peggy had remained stiff and unresponsive.

Bucky kissing her before he slipped out of the room in Ramsgate, sweet and lingering. Dear God, how could she remember the smell of Dum-Dum's uniform jacket when Bucky's scent was already beginning to fade from her memory?

Steve promised they'd dance at the Stork Club. He'd finally learned to lie.

Peggy gave up fighting the scream inside her. Throwing and kicking damp spring soil, grass, stones and anything else she could grab a hold off into the brook, she finally gave into the urge to shout out all the pain that had collected in an ugly knot under her breastbone.

The water calmly washed the stirred-up silt and mud away again and Peggy sank to her knees on the cool, muddy ground, her scream giving way to heaving, ugly sobs. The water, nature, life around her, expectations of what she should do now the war was over… everything just flowed on and there was no mark left of the stones or her anger or their lives.

Her hands clawing into the heavy damp soil, Peggy allowed herself to cry for the first time since the war had ended: ugly, headache-inducing sobs that went on and on. She cried for Steve and Bucky, for Michael, for the future they all could have had, for herself and what lay behind her.

When the tears stopped, she felt drained and weak. She didn't bother cleaning the mud from her knees and skirt until she was almost back at the house. Having arrived at the gate, Albert the shaggy, friendly sheepdog and the scent of fresh scones wafting from the open kitchen window greeted her and she stopped. They all three lived together, Lizzie, Fin and Mika. There was no room for a fourth person here, but if _they_ could manage the impossible, to live their unorthodox lives …

They could have had the same. Her, Steve and Bucky. She forced back the fresh tears welling up, lifted her head and shook her hair back, taking a deep, centering breath. Now wasn't the time for might-have-beens. They had all been aware that the war could bring sudden finality with it, even if they'd allowed themselves the dream of a future together, of them dodging death. Or maybe only Steve had. She'd seen Bucky in the quiet moments and had known that he just played along for Steve's sake.

What would they have done together, if they'd all made it through? Stayed in Britain? It was unlikely, both Steve and Bucky had too much of New York in them to ever be content somewhere else. And to her, Britain felt stiflingly small and small-minded. She longed to be somewhere she could see potential for herself.

But, in New York, would they have stayed together, the way Mika, Fin and Lizzie did? With two men instead of two women, would Steve and Bucky have insisted on Peggy falling into the role that her family and her friends had expected of her? The pretty housewife who hid her wartime past, who stayed in the house and waited for her husband to come home, who organised dinner parties and smiled and smiled until her face hurt and watched her dreams wither and die?

She could almost hear Bucky and Steve both laugh. 

That wouldn't have been them. And she'd never have let them.

After watching the road ahead of her for a few long minutes, she brushed the now dried mud from her knees and turned her steps toward the house.

It was time to say goodbye and start on a new journey.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to murron and Auburn for their unwavering support, for handholding and cups of tea, for strolls along winter-time beaches in Germany and autumn beaches in Wales, constantly talking about the story, for care packages and brainstorming sessions and suffering through so many revisions.
> 
> Thank you to Sevenfoxes and Topaz for very poignant comments and for helping me over a serious roadblock.
> 
> This story would not exist without either of you.


End file.
